


Worst Case Scenario

by patchfire, raving_liberal



Series: Story of Three Boys [37]
Category: Glee
Genre: Brothership, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Gen, M/M, Slash, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-26
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 04:34:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/303782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patchfire/pseuds/patchfire, https://archiveofourown.org/users/raving_liberal/pseuds/raving_liberal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>February is the shortest month. It's also the cruelest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Teaser

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go.

Rachel wakes up early, even though it’s a school holiday. If she’s going to get to Finn’s house before lunchtime with everything, she has to get started _now_. Plus, she has to acclimate her nose to the smell of cooking flesh. She knows none of them will want her own immune system–enhancing herb–vegetable soup, even though in her opinion, it’s far better than chicken soup.

Even if both her grandmothers would be upset with her for saying so.

Well, if those boys just took better care of themselves, this wouldn’t have happened. So much junk food, no attention to nutrition, and if Rachel had to guess, she’d bet none of them have gotten regular physical exercise in at least a month – probably far longer for Noah and Kurt. It’s an excellent reminder to renew her own commitment, however, especially since she’s leaving for auditions in just three days! Once the soup is simmering happily, she hurries back to her elliptical, completing her morning workout before whipping up a green smoothie. She adds a little extra wheatgrass juice this morning and preps the tea kettle so she can have some echinacea tea. Preventive medicine doesn’t hurt!

It’s just ridiculous, really, that they didn’t have a true rehearsal during fourth period the day before. The other nine of them could have still rehearsed! She has to make sure Finn understands the importance of the Sunday rehearsal. If the three of them will just listen to her and rest, they should be fine by Sunday.

 

It’s something like one-thirty before Fordham even makes it home to fix his fucking sandwich, which is too damn late, if you ask him, but what’s he gonna do? He was hoping he’d be buying himself some lunch at the Subway, but that didn’t work out, and Lexi’s giving him shit about how “pushy” he’s being and how he doesn’t “respect her as a woman” or whatever whiny shit bitches wanna go on about when they tease and tease and then get all pissed when they get called out on it.

After six weeks, he oughta be getting some kind of play, not this “can’t get the milk for free” bullshit. She doesn’t change her tune soon, he’s kicking her ass to the curb and getting with one of those freshman girls instead, ‘cause they at least have the sense to want to please their man, as far as Johannson’s always bragging, anyway.

Fordham’s halfway through making his sandwich when he notices the reddish smear on his sleeve, then the splatter down the leg of his jeans. Fucking queer, can’t even bleed in the right direction. Useless. Fordham’s gonna have to throw everything in the wash with a cup of fucking bleach now. Shit, there goes his appetite.

Maybe he’ll give Lexi another call, tell her he’s gonna take her to a movie or something. He’s sure there’s some kinda chick flick playing that’ll at least get him to fucking third base tonight. Nothing else interesting going on this weekend, anyway. Another boring–ass day in Lima, Ohio.


	2. Pretzel, Passenger on the Carole Hudson-Hummel Express

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A indecipherable blob on a screen, a due date, a Pretzel.

“Doctor Lee’s office, this is Becca speaking. How may I direct your call?”

“Yes, I’d like to make an appointment,” Carole says confidently into the phone. She looks around to see if anyone is nearby, then feels ridiculous. It’s the beginning of February, why would anyone be standing in the parking lot of the pharmacy any longer than they had to?

“What type of appointment do you need, ma’am, and are you an established patient of the doctor’s?”

“Yes, I am. I need to.” Carole takes a deep breath. “I believe that I’m pregnant.”

“How far along are you?”

“I have absolutely no idea,” Carole confesses. “That’s why I’d like to get in as soon as possible. I just turned forty, and my cycles are irregular, and it’s been eighteen years since I’ve done this, and…” She trails off, suddenly embarrassed by her outburst. “I’m sorry.”

“Not at all,” the voice on the other end reassures her, and Carole wishes she could remember what the other woman said her name was. “We have an opening on Wednesday morning at 11:30. Would that work for you?”

“Yes, yes, that’s fine.”

“All right. Name and phone number?”

“Oh right!” Carole giggles nervously. “Carole Hudson-Hummel, 419-555-0159.”

“We will see you on Wednesday, Ms. Hudson-Hummel.”

“Thank you!” Carole ends the call and takes a deep breath. Wednesday. She quickly sends Burt a text with the date and time of the appointment, not sure if he’ll be able to come with her or not. She shakes her head a little and walks into the pharmacy. Folic acid, three bottles of water, a two-liter of ginger ale, and a box of granola bars are just what the embryo ordered.

 

Carole ducks out of the office at 11:10. “Doctor’s appointment,” she reminds the new girl, two desks over. Felicia is sweet, learning the job fast, and Carole’s already made a point to suggest Felicia get her bachelor’s so she can move up.

“Absolutely. Take your time, we’ve got it.”

“Thanks, Felicia.” Carole smiles warmly. “See you later.”

She walks to the elevator and then decides to take the stairs. Exercise is important during pregnancy, or at least that seems to be the consensus. She walks down them carefully, though, and stops at the Starbucks in the lobby to get a sandwich.

The drive over to Lima Memorial is short, and Carole supposes that she should feel silly, going to a doctor whose office is at the hospital she doesn’t work at, but she likes Dr. Lee much more than what she’s heard about Dr. Wu. Now that she’s going to have a baby—a _baby!_ —she’s even more glad. Who wants to give birth where coworkers can drop by during labor or immediately after the birth?!

She reaches the office before Burt and signs in, paying the co-pay and letting them make a copy of the new insurance card that was issued in January. She walks to a nearby seat, clutching a clipboard full of paperwork, and thinks about what Burt told her, that Noah’s paying for his own health insurance. She’s sure Rina carries it as well, but some part of her understands what Noah’s doing.

When Christopher died, she was lost for awhile, but she still remembers the pride when she opened her first account in _her_ name. The military was kind and more than took care of her and Finn, but there was something about doing it _herself_ that she imagines Noah must be feeling.

Burt walks in when she’s halfway through the clipboard of paperwork, which she mentally has already started calling the Clipboard of Doom, complete with capital letters. They exchange a brief kiss and Burt takes off his cap, absently twisting and crushing it in his hands.

Carole finishes the Clipboard of Doom with a sigh of relief, and she’s just returned it when the door to the inner corridors swings open and a perky little dark-haired girl calls out “Carole?”

“That’s us, honey,” Carole says to Burt, clearly unnecessarily, because he’s standing before she even uncrosses her legs. They smile—probably nervously—at the tiny nurse–like girl in scrubs and follow her to a room, where she pulls a curtain and asks even more questions and takes Carole’s vitals, then moves Carole out of the room to draw blood and make Carole pee in a cup. Finally, tiny nurse–like girl instructs Carole to disrobe and put on the paper garments. Carole stifles a giggle when she imagines what Kurt would have to say about them.

“Dr. Lee will be in a few moments!”

“Thank you.” The following ten minutes are nerve–wracking, even though Carole knows that the big digital letters probably weren’t lying. When Dr. Lee finally enters, he’s pushing a cart in front of him and wearing a big smile.

“Congratulations!” He beams at both of them. “Nikki tells me that this is a bit of a surprise?”

“It is,” Carole nods, giggling nervously. “I’m just thrown for a loop, to be honest.”

“Well, lie back, and let’s take a look, see how far along you are, all right?”

Carole nods eagerly and lies back, and Burt squeezes her hand, temporarily stunned into silence. The best part of the exam, though, is at the end. Despite the nature of the ultrasound, it’s worth it when Dr. Lee smiles and points to the screen on the top of the cart.

“There’s the heartbeat.” A slight pause. “And it looks like you’re nearly eight weeks, Carole. Seven weeks and four days. Eight weeks on Saturday, a due date of September 22.”

“Eight weeks?” Carole repeats, gaping a little. “That’s… wow.”

“That would put conception around New Year’s Eve,” Dr. Lee adds with a little grin.

“Little pink bag,” Burt mutters under his breath, then louder, “Is it okay that none of what I’m looking at on the screen looks anything like a baby? That’s normal, right? Everybody’s… okay?”

“Absolutely,” Dr. Lee assures him with a smile. “The baby’s just an embryo right now. Carole, do you have any books? I’m sure you got rid of your old ones.”

“I did,” Carole admits. “But I went on Amazon Sunday evening and ordered a few. They should be here soon, Burt, and you can take a look at them too.”

“Like baby manuals or something?” Burt shakes his head. “You didn’t get the ones with the weird cross section cutaway pictures, did you?”

“I don’t think so.” Carole shudders. “I didn’t get that _What to Expect_ book, either. I had it with Finn and I hated it!”

Dr. Lee fiddles with the machine and suddenly a fast swooshing noise fills the room. Burt looks alarmed. “There’s the heartbeat!” Dr. Lee announces, beaming. “One hundred sixty-three.”

“Is that normal? It sounds so fast!” Burt says, but his words are accompanied by a quiet sniffle. “Holy crap, Carole. That’s our kid!”

“Already in a hurry!” Carole jokes, and she is absolutely not tearing up. The cleaner they use in the office is irritating her eyes, that’s all.

“It’s a good heartbeat,” Dr. Lee assures them. “Nice and strong.”

“What about telling the boys?” Carole frets. “Should we tell them yet?”

“The boys?” Dr. Lee asks.

“I guess we’re gonna have to start calling them ‘the men’ soon,” Burt says. “Our sons, Finn and Kurt, who’re both graduating this year.”

“Well, that’s up to the two of you. Many people still like to wait until the end of the first trimester, especially if they opt for testing. Jenn will give you a folder when you leave with more information, pros and cons, about the testing, and we can talk more about it at your twelve–week visit, too. I usually tell my patients to tell those people from whom they’d want support if the worst happened,” he concludes soberly.

Carole frowns and bites her lip. “I’d hate for them to worry, with Regionals coming up, and Finn has his thing tonight and all of that. What do you think, Burt?”

“I think we should think about it a little more,” Burt says. “Maybe discuss it at home where you’re not wearing a paper dress and, no offense Dr. Lee, there’s not been any, uh, equipment in your, you know. For a while.”

Dr. Lee laughs again, and Carole thinks that as long as Dr. Lee laughs a few times while she’s in labor, she’ll be reassured. “No offense taken, Burt.” He finishes up and smiles. “I’ll be back in a few moments, if you want to get dressed, Carole.”

The rest of the appointment is a lot less exciting, except for the four prints of the ultrasound that Dr. Lee hands them before he leaves the room. They do get a thick folder as they leave and make the next appointment.

“That’s the day before the boys have their Regionals competition,” Carole points out, examining the card as they walk to the elevator together. “Oh, wait, let’s take the stairs.” They find the stairs and start down. “So maybe if everything looks good, we tell them the day after Regionals?”

“I think that’s a good idea,” Burt says, deliberately placing himself in front of Carole headed down the stairs.

Carole shakes her head fondly at Burt’s back. “I’ve not really been all that sick, so it shouldn’t be too hard to keep it from them. And I don’t want to add to their stress in any way.” That decided, they head their separate ways after a brief kiss. And if Carole stops at the McDonald’s drive-thru to get two apple pies, well. There’s a little jellybean–shaped being with a fast heartbeat that must want them.


	3. 3x20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> February is the shortest month. It's also the cruelest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings: Contains domestic violence/child abuse, suicide/self-harm, _fuck shit stack_**
> 
>  
> 
> Copyedited/beta'd by the inimitable David of Oz. <3

“I cannot stop sneezing,” Kurt announces with a frown when he walks into physics on Wednesday morning. “I swear, I wonder if I’m allergic to something at Chipotle.”

“You too?” Puck asks, surprised. “Maybe it was something at Target, instead.”

“Maybe so.” Kurt shakes his head. “I just know I’m already sick of it, and it’s barely 9 am.”

“There is that,” Puck agrees.

“We should eat extra oranges or something,” Kurt continues. “At lunch, I mean. Just in case we’re getting sick. And vitamin D, so, milk, I guess.”

“Oranges and milk. Orange sherbet?” Puck grins, and his grin gets wider when Kurt laughs.

“Maybe,” Kurt finally answers, still giggling a little as the teacher starts telling them about the lab they’re doing that day. Lab days are kind of awesome, because they don’t have to stop talking and people still don’t pay attention to them. Puck’s not really sure if the rest of their class is really that oblivious or if they genuinely don’t give a fuck. He leans towards the latter, because really, why should they?

“I think I’m going to go by Ms. Pillsbury’s office at the beginning of fourth,” Puck says after a moment. “Let her know she can send people up to Dr. Venko. Plus probably good to have on record somewhere at the school that I’m on meds.”

“Yes, you need to be able to carry them without worrying about Figgins or Schue or someone accusing you of drug dealing.” Kurt shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“It’s kind of weird, though. I mean, I never even told Mom about the appointment. Not the one here, not the one yesterday. And I wasn’t really planning on it. I don’t know. Part of me is like, how did she not realize that the puking thing wasn’t normal?”

Kurt shrugs a little, lips pressed together. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly.

“So I guess that sort of makes me a little mad, but mostly just sad. Like… how fucked up are things, if she couldn’t realize that about her kid?” He stops and exhales. “And if she didn’t realize that about me, what if there’s something with Hannah that she doesn’t see? That I don’t see?”

Kurt purses his lips and tilts his head back and forth, clearly considering the question. “I think… Hannah is more open, so that helps. Beyond that, well.” Kurt sighs. “Remember what I said Monday evening, about Liberty being closer to my house?”

Puck nods, wondering where Kurt’s going with it.

“So you ask Dad and Carole to keep an eye on things. I mean, you might’ve anyway.” Kurt pauses and looks a little guilty. “Well, _I_ was planning on it, at any rate. So you make sure they do, and maybe convince your mom to give Carole access to Hannah’s records and things at school. Just in case, you tell her.”

Puck nods slowly, thinking about what Kurt’s saying, and also what he’s not saying. “Okay. That makes sense. And it’d make sense to Mom, too, even if she doesn’t know the real reason. Do you think I should tell her? About me, I mean.”

“How do you think she’d react?”

“On a good day, close to appropriately. You know. I’m sorry I didn’t notice, what can I do to help, let me know how things are going. On a bad day? Calling me mentally ill would be the best outcome I could hope for.” Saying it out loud gives Puck the answer, without Kurt having to say anything else, and he sighs. “Yeah, so no on telling her.”

Sure, Dr. Venko said therapy could be emotionally draining and shit, but Puck didn’t realize it’d mean confronting anything about anyone but himself; but there it is, smack in the face, less than twenty-four hours later. Apparently therapy actually means thinking about shit that you try your best not to think about it. On the other hand, the last time Puck tried that, it turned out really awesome, so maybe the therapy shit will too.

“Sorry, baby,” Kurt murmurs sympathetically, squeezing Puck’s hand.

“It is what it is, I guess.” Puck frowns. “You really signed on for the extra baggage model, K.”

Kurt giggles for a second. “I like nice luggage,” he finally answers. “As long as it’s not too mismatched.”

Puck laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Of course, I could make an exception, if necessary.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmhmm.” Kurt smiles over at him. “But I think you are a bad influence.”

“What makes you say that?”

“I’m trying to figure out how bad it would be to skip third period.”

Puck grins. “Yeah, I’m definitely a bad influence.”

“Not even trying to talk me out of it,” Kurt adds mournfully.

“Well, now, why would I want to do that?” Puck asks frankly.

“I don’t know,” Kurt admits with a sigh. “Bad influences generally try to talk me _into_ things, don’t they?”

“Pretty much.” Puck nods, looking solemn.

“But it’s not just me missing class,” Kurt continues, and now his frown looks genuine. “You’d miss class, too.” Something about the way Kurt says it, and the look on his face, makes Puck realize that Kurt wasn’t joking, but he also wasn’t thinking about the fact that Puck would miss English, which is Puck’s lowest grade – and has been all year.

“Damn.”

“I think we’ve also missed about half of this lab.”

“Well, fuck.” Puck sighs. “Make it up?”

“If by ‘make it up’ you mean ‘fabricate’, then yes,” Kurt answers. “We’ll work it out during fourth period.” He puts his papers away and tucks his notebook back into his bag. “After you go see Ms. Pillsbury that is.”

“And before Mike makes us all start dancing to ‘Somebody Told Me’,” Puck points out, climbing to his feet. “I think he’s going to assign the partners.”

“As long as neither of us draws the short straw – I mean, Finn.”

Puck laughs. “Good point. Later, K.”

Kurt smiles. “Au revoir.”

 

“I gotta go somewhere else first,” Puck protests at the end of English when Rachel links arms with him and starts to steer them towards the choir room. “I’ll be there, really. Kurt and I have to make up data for our physics lab and everything.”

“Why?”

“Because we didn’t finish it?”

“Okay.” Rachel still looks confused, but she shrugs and disentangles herself. “All right, then, Noah, I will see you shortly.”

“Yeah, okay,” Puck nods and then shakes his head ruefully as Rachel strides purposefully down the hall. He turns in the other direction and rounds the corner to Ms. Pillsbury’s office.

“Noah, hello,” Ms. Pillsbury says before he can even knock, from behind him, and he jumps. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She smiles. “Come in, come in, just move that box, here, I’ll take those flowers.”

“Valentine’s day?” Puck guesses, more out of trying to be polite than any real interest.

“Not exactly,” Ms. Pillsbury answers, and her smile gets broader. “I was the maid of honor at a Valentine’s day elopement!” She waves her left arm and Puck realizes she’s holding a card of some type with a pen. “I was just getting some of the faculty to sign this congratulatory card. I think perhaps we’ll take up a collection for a nice gift.” She frowns. “What is a good gift when someone elopes?”

“Uh, probably just the same as if they got married the usual way?” Puck offers with a frown.

“That’s true! Maybe I’ll just ask Shannon if there’s anything particular they need.”

Wait. Shannon. “Coach Beiste got married?” Puck blurts out before he can stop himself.

“Yes!” Ms. Pillsbury smiles, clearly delighted. “Isn’t it romantic? Monty—Mr. Desmond, the Trojammers’ coach—planned everything out for yesterday afternoon. It was a lovely ceremony.”

“Wow.” Puck blinks. “Well, that’s awesome. Can I tell people? Some of the students’d probably like to get her something, too.”

“Of course! And here I’ve been chattering away about that, and you came to see me.” Ms. Pillsbury titters a little. “I’m so sorry, Noah. What did you need to tell me?”

“Oh, uh, I just wanted to give you this.” Puck reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out an extra business card that he grabbed the afternoon before. “The guy’s in Toledo, so it’s a little bit of a hike, but if you need to refer someone to a psychiatrist specifically again, he’s not like that quack here in town.”

“Oh!” Ms. Pillsbury takes the card with some interest and scans it. “Dr. Venko? You met with him?”

Puck nods. “Yeah. He was a lot better— oh, yeah, that was the other thing.” He digs in his backpack for a second and pulls out the two bottles from Target. “I didn’t know if I needed to like, register that I have these, or something. I didn’t want someone to find them and think I was selling them or whatever.”

“Did Dr. Venko give you anything with the prescriptions?”

Puck stares at her blankly before nodding. “Oh, yeah, right.” Dr. V had given him some kind of form letter, said it was an explanation or something. Puck fishes that out of his bag as well, and Ms. Pillsbury swivels in her seat to make a copy before handing the original back to Puck.

“Let me just write down what the prescriptions are and I’ll leave it on file in the office.” She pauses for a moment. “I’ll keep a copy in here and give you a copy as well, I think.”

“Okay.”

“So this Dr. Venko was… supportive?” Ms. Pillsbury asks almost cautiously as she copies down the prescription information.

“Suppor— Oh, yeah. Yeah.” Puck nods. It hadn’t hit until the middle of last week that when he barged into Ms. Pillsbury’s office to complain about Dr. Nichols, he’d also effectively come out to Ms. Pillsbury. It doesn’t seem like a huge deal, and maybe it’s even good that she knows, Puck isn’t sure. Still, he’s not _used_ to her knowing, because school is where hardly anyone knows, so he didn’t exactly expect the question. “Yeah, there’s a website, an association, so that’s where I found his name.”

“Oh, okay.” Ms. Pillsbury looks up and smiles, handing the two bottles back to him. “There you go, Noah.” She turns to make copies again, handing one of them to Puck. He folds it and puts it next to the bottles in his bag. “If anyone asks you about them, just show them that and it should be fine.”

“All right.” Puck stands. “Thanks, Ms. P.”

“You’re welcome. And thank you for the card,” she adds, holding up the business card.

 

Everyone in the choir room is working more or less quietly when Puck crosses into it. “Guess what?” he says, closing the door behind him.

“Thirty-seven,” Brittany pipes up.

“No, Britt,” Puck shakes his head. “Not the number guessing game.”

“Is it an animal, vegetable, or miracle?”

Puck pauses, considering. “Well, it’d be pretty mean to call it a _miracle_ , but it’s kind of awesome, so.”

“Well, spill, dude,” Finn says.

“Coach Beiste got _married_ yesterday.”

“What? Seriously?” Finn asks. “Get out of town!”

“To that Trojammers guy?” Sam asks. “The one that was here on Signing Day?”

“Wait, that little dude with the hat? Who was at Invitationals?” Finn looks confused, and a little dopier than usual. “Is that why Rachel said she saw him at some of the football games? You said you thought he was a spy!” He adds, looking at Rachel.

“It was a legitimate concern!” Rachel protests, looking up from whatever she’s working on. “Of course, now that we defeated them at Sectionals, it’s less of a concern.”

“Apparently his name is Monty Desmond.” Puck shrugs. “They eloped yesterday.” Puck crosses the room and sits down next to Kurt, pulling out his physics so they can make numbers up.

“That’s so romantic,” Brittany sighs.

“How’d you find out?” Mike asks.

“Had to see Ms. P,” Puck says vaguely. “She had a card and was the maid of honor or something and wanted to know what you got people that eloped. I figure it’s the same thing you get people that get married with invitations, but I dunno.”

“Usually people will register for gifts, Noah!” Rachel pipes up. “And they’ll have bridal showers as well, and so all of their friends will have an idea of what gift to get them. But if a couple _elopes_ , there’s not going to be any registries.”

“Couldn’t they register afterwards? Like, couldn’t Coach and Trojammer guy go to Target today or something?”

“They need a blender,” Brittany suggest. “Or a cockatiel.”

“With a lid that works,” Kurt responds. “I’m not sure about the cockatiel, though.”

Puck grins. “Still not a fan of the open–top blending?”

“No.”

“We should check online to see if they’ve registered anywhere,” Artie suggests. “I have a cousin who eloped because planning the wedding was giving her ulcers, but she and her husband still registered.”

“Yeah, we should get her something,” Puck says with a nod. And he should probably learn about these registry things anyway because he’s pretty sure Kurt’s not the eloping type.

“Everyone can bring some cash and we’ll figure out a good gift.” Kurt looks around the room. “We can either get one big one or two or three smaller ones.”

“That’s cool. We’ll pick out something really nice for her,” Finn says, with a big smile. “I’m really happy for her. That’s just so awesome!”

“It really is!” Tina smiles broadly. “But while we’re talking about teachers…”

“Yeah,” Finn frowns. “We are probably going to have to talk about that.”

“He was totally out of control on Monday,” Sam points out. “He seemed almost crazy.”

“Yeah. That was… not cool, at all.” Finn’s frown deepens, and he coughs a little, stalling maybe. “I think we need to think seriously about what our next move is going to be, if he tries to tell us we can’t do rehearsals without him or if he tries to pull the club entirely.”

“Like I said, I’m pretty sure he can’t pull the club, just resign and leave us without a faculty sponsor,” Puck reiterates.

“I know he _can’t_ , but I think he’ll _try_ , dude,” Finn explains. “And we just need to, like, be ready.”

“He can’t stop us from hanging out together off campus outside of school hours,” Mike points out. “It’s not ideal for dancing practice, but if we can get through Regionals, we could even practice outside when it gets warmer.”

“Why don’t we find a co-sponsor?” Mercedes asks. “Just so we have someone in place in case he does something like waiting until the last minute to quit.”

“Who won’t mind going behind Mr. Schue’s back? Other than Coach Sylvester,” Finn says.

“It doesn’t have to be anyone who even interacts with Schue regularly, or knows anything about music,” Kurt reasons. “We have a lot of teachers here. We just need a teacher who happens to like at least one of us.”

“Does anyone have a suggestion?” Mike asks.

“First, I just wanna be sure,” Finn begins. “We’re all on the same page with this, right? We all want to keep standing up for ourselves?”

“Yes,” Quinn answers, quietly, and Kurt’s head swivels sharply to look at her. “Mr. Schue is wrong. We’ve never danced or sounded better, and _we_ did that, not him. I mean, the Cheerios practice for hours every day. Anything less than that just shows you’re not serious about winning.”

“Quinn’s right,” Rachel nods. “We’re all putting in a lot of practice. And Kurt was right, too, on Monday. It’s a lot more fun to be confident when stepping onto the stage. No, we need to do whatever it takes.”

“I bet that Ms. Hagberg would do it,” Quinn suggests. “She doesn’t do any other big extracurricular activities and she let us use the Home Ec room for the bake sale that time.”

“I don’t think she likes me,” Brittany says.

“I _know_ she doesn’t like me,” Kurt says dryly, amusement bleeding through his tone. “Too many questions about paté.”

“Hey, I like paté!” Puck is jostled from his thoughts about Beth, because she (and pot) are what the bake sale make him think of.

“You’ve eaten paté?” Artie looks surprised and somewhat impressed.

Puck looks up and realizes that he was either louder than he realized or he really surprised them all, because the entire room is staring at him, except for Kurt, who’s trying not to laugh, and Finn, who seems to be smiling into the back of his hand, like he doesn’t want Puck or the rest of the room to notice. “Um, yeah,” Puck answers Artie. “And I know what you’re thinking, Hudson.”

“What? I’m not thinking anything,” Finn says, forcing his face into a blank look that isn’t that much different from his normal look.

“Sure you aren’t.” Puck shakes his head. “I didn’t say you were wrong.”

Finn grins in response.

“Okay, so no Ms. Hagberg,” Mercedes cuts in. “Anyone else?”

“Puck should ask Mrs. Vey,” Brittany says. “She likes him. She thinks he’s insightful and polite,” she explains, like she’s quoting the teacher directly.

“We are talking about Puck, right?” Mercedes asks doubtfully.

“Is there another Puck?” Brittany asks. “I only know one. That one. The one that Mrs. Vey likes.”

“She does seem to never mark him tardy, even when he’s super–late,” Sam agrees. “Like yesterday.”

“Puck was late yesterday?” Santana buts in. “Interesting.” She looks over at Kurt and Puck and grins, and Puck remembers Kurt mentioning that Santana was in his math class this semester. Well.

“Ok, so Puck can ask Mrs. Vey,” Finn nods. “Quinn can always try Ms. Hagberg just in case. I was thinking about asking Coach Beiste… or Coach Whoever–she–is–now.”

“Coach Bowler Hat Man,” Brittany states, definitively.

“Sure, Britt, Coach Bowler Hat Man,” Finn agrees. “But she just got married and she’s also pretty good friends with Mr. Schue, so…”

“Yeah, let’s just get her a present and let her be happily eloped,” Puck agrees.

Finn nods. “So, do we have a third option? Or try the first two and go from there?”

“Let’s start with the first two. We don’t want it to seem like the entire school is organizing against Schue, as satisfying as that image might be,” Kurt replies.

“Ok,” Finn says. “At least that’s settled.”

“Now we should dance!” Mike announces with a grin.

“Uh-oh,” Tina teases. “I know that look!”

“I’m assigning your partners,” Mike continues, not responding to Tina except to shoot her a wider grin. “For maximum… effect, I guess. Compatibility, ease with each other, showmanship, shoring up each other’s strengths and weaknesses. I broke up most of the couples, sorry, guys, but not all of them.” He smirks for half a second and Puck resists the urge to laugh. Mike has way too much fun knowing about them. “Britt, you’re with me. Santana, with Quinn. Tina, Artie. Finn, Rachel.” Finn grins at that. “Sam, Mercedes. And Puck and Kurt.”

“Cool,” Sam says with a nod as they all stand up. “They’ll never know what hit ’em.”

Kurt grins for a moment, catching Puck’s eye, clearly pleased, and Puck returns the grin. They’ll have to thank Mike somehow.

“Today I just want to put on some music and let everyone dance, get a feel for your partner if you haven’t danced with them much before, or haven’t danced swing with them before. All right?” He looks around and waits for everyone to nod. “Great!” With that, he turns and hits play, ‘Somebody Told Me’ blaring out immediately.

Puck just looks almost blankly at Kurt. They did a lot of practice for Invitationals, sure, but none of that was swing. “You should lead,” he asserts, and Kurt giggles.

“Okay, at least for today. I’ll get you up to speed before May, though,” Kurt asserts.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

“That depends on how motivated you are as a student.”

“I can be very motivated given the right material to study.”

Kurt grins and leans close, his lips next to Puck’s ear for a split second. “I know you can, baby.” When Kurt pulls back, he’s a little more assertive, almost aggressive, and then Puck catches sight of Santana, smirking at Kurt. Then Puck understands. For the rest of the song, Kurt and Santana participate in a game of one-upmanship (one-upwomanship?), each of them pushing the envelope just a little more with their supposedly–straight partners. When the music comes to an end, the rest of the room is watching the four of them.

“Kurt? Santana?”

“Yes?” they reply in unison, both of them smiling almost innocently.

“I think you got the edgy part down,” Mike says wryly.

“But who won?” Santana asks.

“Who _won_?”

“Yeah, which one of us crossed more lines?” She grins. “Sorry about that, Q.”

“I, um. I’m not sure,” Mike answers her. “We’ll call it a tie.”

“Oh, we’ll have to try again next time, Satan,” Kurt says cheerily, then smirks at Puck.

“You two are vicious,” Sam says, somewhat admiringly.

“We try,” Kurt says flippantly. “It’s in the handbook.”

 

Finn sees Karofsky sitting alone at the lunch table, which isn’t normal—usually Casey’s there bouncing around in one of the other chairs—but works out pretty well for Finn. He drops into the chair across from Karofsky, who’s poking kind of pitifully at whatever kind of weird meat they served for lunch today. Finn doesn’t blame him. It is pretty awful. He barely ate a bite of it and he feels kind of gross.

“’Zup, dude?” Finn asks, putting up his fist for a bump. Karofsky just jumps, looking startled, like he didn’t expect Finn to be there. “Dude, leaving me hanging here!” Finn adds, moving his fist around a little.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Karofsky sort of shakes himself and bumps Finn’s fist with his. “You startled me.”

“Sorry,” Finn grins. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you while you were wrapped up in lunch meat drama. What _is_ that stuff supposed to be, anyway?”

“All I’m sure is that it’s not chicken,” Karofsky answers, mustering a small smile.

“Aw, see, I was pretty sure it _was_ chicken,” Finn muses, then shakes his head. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about Casey.”

Karofsky almost blanches. “What about him?”

Finn stares at Karofsky for a minute. Dude is acting _weird_ today. “Oh, uh, so Kurt had this idea, well, he’s already working on it actually, but we wanted to see if anybody else wanted to pitch in.” Karofsky doesn’t look like he’s following, and Finn realizes he didn’t actually explain what the idea is. “A _car_. For Casey.”

“A car?” Karofsky repeats. “What do you mean? That’s kind of expensive.”

“Naw, well, you know Kurt works on cars,” Finn explains, then pauses. “Wait, you probably don’t know that, so let me back it up a little. Kurt works on cars. He’s been working in Burt’s shop for, like, pretty much ever, and he’s taken all of these tests and stuff, like mechanic tests, I dunno. Something like that. You following?”

Karofsky nods. “I think so.”

“Ok, but, so Kurt found this really cheap car, a Trans Am, 80–something, it’s was only like a hundred bucks or whatever, and me and Kurt and Puck, but mostly Kurt and a little Burt, are fixing it up. For Casey, for when he can drive, and Puck’s going to help him get a job at Starbucks, and we’re hoping we can get people to donate, like, gas cards or a paint job or, I dunno. Air freshener? Fuzzy dice?” Finn grins at Karofsky. “You in?”

Karofsky looks a little stunned for a moment, like he’s taking a minute to digest everything, along with the mystery meat, and then nods slowly. “Yeah. That’s pretty awesome, dude.” Then he scowls. “As long as that prick lets Case get his license.”

“What prick? Wait, what?” Finn stares at Karofsky, trying to make sense of what he’s saying, but not being super–successful at it. Granted, his head’s been feeling a little weird all day, but this might be more than that.

“Casey’s dad.” Karofsky looks angry. “He’s…” He sighs. “He knocks him around.”

“Wait, _what_?!” Finn repeats, because what kind of adult would hit Casey. That just doesn’t make any sense. “What are you talking about? Somebody _hits_ him?”

“Yeah.” Karofsky exhales explosively. “I don’t know what to do, dude. I mean, I knew things were crap at home for him, but this is. Worse.”

“Casey’s dad is, like… he’s hitting him?” Finn feels worse than slow, but he just can’t process what Karofsky is saying. Sweet little Casey? Finn knew things were probably not great for him at home, just from what he says in PFLAG, but this is so far outside of what makes sense for Finn that he feels like he’s trying to communicate in, like, Spanish or something. “Jesus, man! What do we _do_?”

“I don’t know.” Karofsky shakes his head. “I don’t fucking know. He won’t… won’t talk to anyone about it, and I.” Karofsky puts his head into his hand. “He’s pushing me away, saying I never should have known, that he just has to be better, try harder.”

“Shit, Dave,” Finn says. “I had no idea, dude. He just, he always seems so _happy_ , you know? At PFLAG and when he’s hanging out with you. I mean, yeah, there was that one time when, oh shit! That day, at PFLAG, the day he was all. And you were all. Shit, is that what happened?”

Karofsky nods. “Yeah. I don’t know how much… there was this time back in the fall. He didn’t come to school for a couple of days. And now, I don’t know. I feel kind of stupid for not putting it together.”

“You guys, you kinda spend a lot of time together?” Finn asks, though it’s really more of a statement than anything else. “Maybe he didn’t want you to know what was going on. When Kurt—” Finn cuts himself off, wincing. “Sorry, man, it’s kind of a shit time to bring this up, I know. Just, junior year, when that _stuff_ was going on with Kurt, he didn’t let anybody know either, so. Don’t feel stupid, is all I’m saying.”

“I just— it’s so fucking obvious, in retrospect,” Karofsky says, mostly ignoring everything that Finn said about last year. “And I don’t know what to do.”

“Can you, I dunno, call the cops or something?” Finn suggests. It sounds like a good idea, anyway.

“Yeah, I started to Monday night,” Karofsky admits. “But I don’t know. What if the wrong cop comes out to the call? Dad knows most of the guys on the force, they’re good guys. But what if we get the one bad one?”

“I guess it could make it a lot worse,” Finn sighs. “Shit. Does your dad know? I could tell Burt, he might know what to do.”

Karofsky nods, then stops. “Yeah. Maybe. Dad knows but not the details. It’s just.” Karofsky shakes his head. “I don’t think they feed him enough, either, and he doesn’t have a good coat that fits. Which isn’t the same as hitting him, but still.”

Finn props his elbows up on the table and rests his chin in his hands. “Don’t they, like, take kids away from their parents for that kind of stuff? Maybe that would be better?”

“It’d have to be, wouldn’t it?” Karofsky shrugs. “I don’t know, I kind of want to talk to Ms. Pillsbury, but I don’t want Case to get completely pissed off at me.”

“Maybe you should do it anyway,” Finn says, wishing he could sound a little more certain. “I mean, if he’s getting bad hurt or you think he could, wouldn’t you rather him be pissed than that?”

“Yeah. And I mean, I don’t think those things move that fast, do they?” Karofsky looks hopeful or something, like maybe he can tell somebody and it’ll work out alright.

“I have no idea, man,” Finn says. “They’ve gotta, like, investigate or whatever, don’t they? I just think maybe you should tell somebody. Or, not, hell, I don’t even know.”

“Yeah, exactly!” Karofsky snorts. “But anyway, yeah. The car. Definitely in. Just let me know what’s needed.”

“Well, maybe some money to offset the parts, oh and Kurt said maybe ask around, see if anybody knows anybody about insurance,” Finn shrugs. “Oh, and it needs to be painted. Kurt was thinking black, but I think it should be red, so it looks like a real hot rod, right?”

Karofsky snorts again. “Yellow. He’d want it to be yellow. And doesn’t Brown’s mom own the Allstate office?”

“Yellow? Really?” Finn looks at Karofsky dubiously. “Ok, you’d probably know better than I would, so, yellow. And yeah, will you talk to Brown about that? Or, I mean, you’ve maybe got a lot on your mind right now, so I could talk to him. I bet he’d help. Weren’t you guys all at the dance together or whatever?”

“Yeah, us and Rickenbacker.” Karofsky laughs. “Brown made Rick dance with him, it was pretty funny. But, yeah, if you could talk to him, that’d be good.”

“You gonna talk to Ms. Pillsbury, you think?”

“Yeah, at least in generalities. See what would be done, right?”

“Yeah.” That’s a lot of shit right there, and Finn feels bad that Karofsky’s having to deal with it. “You let me know what you find out, and if you need any of us to do anything? Me and Kurt and Puck, we can probably put a serious hurt on that asshole if we need to, and you can like, kidnap Casey and run to Mexico.”

Karofsky grins. “Canada’s closer, but yeah. Will do.”

“It’s cool you’re looking out for him, dude,” Finn says. “Seriously. That’s… it’s good.”

“Yeah. Just hope it’s enough.” Karofsky nods and scrapes his chair, pushing it back. “Later, dude.”

“Me, too, man,” Finn says, putting up his fist for another bump. Karofsky returns the gesture almost half-heartedly before turning to walk away. “Later.”

Finn walks back over to the table where Rachel is finishing up her salad. “Sorry that took so long,” he says, slumping down into the seat next to her, feeling worn out.

“What happened?” Rachel asks, chasing down a runaway square of tofu.

“Not good things,” he sighs. “People are assholes. But, I mean, Karofsky used to be an asshole, and now he’s the one trying to stop the asshole, so, I dunno, Rach. I think Karofsky’s got it covered.” He shrugs. “Crazy world.”

 

“I feel worn out already,” Kurt says with a sigh as they meet at the Nav after their respective two o’clock classes.

“Yeah, me too,” Puck nods. “Maybe we’re fighting off a cold or something.”

“We never did have our oranges at lunch.”

“I could drop you off and go get some. Maybe some orange juice, too. Drop it back by the shop before I go to work.”

Kurt yawns and nods. “That sounds lovely, actually.” He frowns. “Maybe some throat lozenges, too? I feel like I have a tickle in my throat.”

“Yeah, good plan," Puck agrees. “What kind?”

“Ricola, one bag of the Honey Herb and one of the Green Tea.” He stops. “I like to alternate the two.”

“Okay.” Puck shrugs. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“Plus the Green Tea ones are sugar–free, so my teeth get a break from that slimy feeling.”

“I hate that!” Puck exclaims. “It’s so weird.” He pulls into the parking lot in front of the shop and shakes his head. “I’ll just run over to the Walgreens past St. Rita’s, they usually have some fruit.”

“All right, sounds good.” Kurt yawns again and stretches as he climbs out, and Puck echoes his yawn. “See you in a few minutes, baby. Be good.”

“I’m always good.”

Walgreens does, in fact, have oranges, so he gets a bag, and a small bunch of bananas, too, because bananas have something that’s good for you. Potassium, maybe, but that sounds like something from chemistry. Could be chemistry and nutrition both? Maybe so. He gets two big containers of orange juice, each of them like a quart, one for each of them. If they’re not getting sick, at least they won’t get scurvy either.

“Oh, thank goodness.” Kurt greets him. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through until six or seven.”

“I know.” Puck frowns. “I have to make it until nine. Hopefully it’ll be a slow night.”

“I hope so.”

“Talk to you after I get home, blue eyes. Be good.”

“Okay.” Kurt pauses in his quest for the bottom of the orange juice carton. “I’m always good.”

Puck drinks all of his orange juice and eats two bananas before he starts his shift, and he decides to make himself a venti Americano, hoping it will help him stay awake. He’s trying to decide what to do for dinner—the bistro boxes look good but he’s also tempted to just down a couple of oranges and another banana—when his mom and Hannah suddenly appear. “Mom?”

“Oh, good, you’re here, I didn’t have time to call and be sure.”

“What’s going on?”

“Mom forgot about Parent/Teacher Night again,” Hannah answers, matter–of–factly, and she puts down her backpack and sits down a little round table. “So I’m supposed to stay here with you while she goes to it.”

“Well, yes,” Rina confirms. “It starts in forty-five minutes and I need to go home and change. I don’t know if you’ll get home before me or not, so why don’t you just bring Hannah home with you when you get done. Can you feed her dinner here?”

Puck sighs. Kurt’s right, and it sucks, but he’s going to have to talk to Carole and Burt, and to Sam about moving Stevie to the magnet school, too. Maybe he can find out Rebecca’s parents’ information and talk to them, too. “Yeah, Mom. Go ahead. I got it.” He looks at Hannah. “Sit there, and if a customer comes in, don’t talk to me until I’ve gotten their order. Got it?”

“Got it!” Hannah chirps back, smiling cutely, and Puck shakes his head. Trouble.

“All right, Mom. Go on. Just remember Schue’s mad at the entire glee club.”

“Why?”

“We’ve been rehearsing,” Puck answers dryly, then waves as she leaves, confused expression on her face. He turns to Hannah. “All right, squirt. Ham and swiss panini or tarragon chicken salad sandwich?”

“Those are my only two choices?” She wrinkles her nose.

“We’re out of turkey and swiss.”

“All right, ham and swiss.”

“Good.” He gestures at a banana, and she picks it up. “Listen, I might be getting a cold, so you stay over there. I’ll just pop your panini in and hand it to you without touching it, okay?”

Hannah nods. “I don’t want a cold!”

“I know. So grab one of those oranges beside my backpack, okay? And eat it too.”

“Okay!” Hannah smiles brightly, finishing the banana before the panini is ready, and then eating it and the orange together. A few customers come in and in between them, Puck decides to open up one of the throat lozenges, giving in to the reality of being a little under the weather.

“You got any homework?” he asks Hannah while he settles on one of the bistro boxes and an orange, and she nods.

“Spelling practice, read in my AR book, and two workbook pages for math.”

“What’s the math?”

“Review of capacity.”

“Okay, do that first, and I’ll look over it, and then I’ll quiz you on your spelling words.” Puck yawns at the end of the sentence and shivers. Day shift must’ve been messing with the thermostat again. They forget that the miserably small amount of heat the sun gives in the winter disappears with sunset.

Hannah behaves remarkably well, doing her math and letting Puck look over it before dutifully writing out her spelling words as he calls them out. At eight, he makes her start reading her book, moving to an armchair, and she curls up there for the rest of the evening with _Little House in the Big Woods_. Puck shivers and yawns through the rest of the evening, and ends up grabbing one of the orange juices they sell and drinking it too.

“You okay, Noah?” Hannah asks while he’s closing up, and Puck shrugs.

“Dunno, squirt. You got all your stuff packed?”

Hannah nods. “Yep! I finished my book, too, I’m going to get the next one tomorrow!”

“Okay.” Puck musters a smile. “Get your coat and hat and gloves on.”

“Okay!” Puck cuts a few corners, reasoning that he’ll be opening in the morning, and locks up the store, taking Hannah’s hand when they cross the street to get to the Nav. “Where’s Kurt?”

Puck looks at her blankly. “At home.”

“Why’s his car here?”

“So we can get home.”

“Mom said we were going to walk home!”

Puck just stares at Hannah. He wasn’t sure that Rina knew he had the Nav some nights, but when she said he should just bring Hannah home with him, he thought that meant she did. But she meant that he and Hannah were supposed to walk home in below–freezing weather, in the dark, after nine at night. Puck shakes his head and pulls his hat lower. Yeah, he did it, before the new year, and he still could, but Hannah’s _eight_.

“No,” he says finally. “We’re driving. Back seat for you, squirt,” he adds, unlocking the doors and climbing inside. “And when we get home, you go brush teeth and put on pajamas.”

“No shower tonight?”

Puck shakes his head as he pulls onto the street. “Too late, Hannah. One night won’t hurt.”

“Okay!” Hannah grins, like it’s a great treat, and Puck guesses that to an eight year old, it probably is.

Rina isn’t home yet when Puck and Hannah get there, so Puck ushers Hannah into bed and turns out the light before changing his own clothes. He puts on sweats, a wifebeater, a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt, plus a pair of thick socks and some slippers that he hasn’t worn in two years. He ends up leaving his hat on, too, and mutters at the thermostat. “Can’t be right.”

Rina gets home ten minutes later, smiling broadly. “What’s so exciting?” Puck grumbles from the couch, where he’s underneath a blanket and trying to think of a paper topic for history. He wants to call Kurt, but he knew Rina would be home soon, and wanting to talk about the Parent/Teacher Night, most likely.

“Oh! You startled me!” Rina keeps smiling though, hanging up her coat. “Oh, I was just talking to Carole.”

“Ohhh.” Puck nods.

“What do you know?” Rina asks.

“I don’t know anything,” Puck quickly responds.

“Sure.” Rina looks suspicious, then changes the subject. “Your history teacher still thinks you are delightful. What did you do to that woman?”

Puck shrugs. “I dunno. I haven’t figured it out either.”

“Nothing else stood out. Your glee club teacher just talked about how you were all hard workers. It was odd.”

“Yeah, well,” Puck sneezes. “He’s odd.”

“Are you getting sick?” Rina asks, alarmed.

“It’s probably just a cold,” Puck grumbles.

“Well, take that throw with you into your room. I can’t take any sick days so neither Hannah nor I can get sick!”

“Okay, okay,” Puck answers, standing up and heading towards his room. “Hannah got her homework done. Night, Mom.”

“Good night, Noah.”

Puck feels a little like Kurt, adding an extra blanket to his bed, and then he crawls under all of them to call Kurt. “Hi,” Kurt answers, sounding tired.

“Feel any better?”

“No.” Kurt sounds forlorn. “I’m cold. I mean, more than usual.”

“Yeah, me too,” Puck admits. “Still worn out. I have homework due tomorrow but I just can’t.”

“Same here. How was work?” Kurt yawns at the end of the sentence.

“Work was fine. Mom brought Hannah in because she forgot about Parent/Teacher Night again. So Hannah ate there and then did her homework.”

“Wow.” Kurt’s quiet for a moment and Puck can picture him shaking his head. “Well, at least she behaved.”

“Perfect angel,” Puck snorts. “First time for everything, right?” He shivers again and lets his eyes droop. “We should sleep, blue eyes.”

“Yeah, we should.” Kurt sneezes. “Good night, baby. Feel better.”

“You too, K. Night.”

 

Puck’s a lot of things, but he’s not generally been _lazy_ for a while, so when he hits snooze the next morning, he knows it’s a bad sign. Still, he cut corners the night before, so even though he stumbles in later than usual, he gets the store open by five after six, lozenge seated firmly in his cheek and a tissue in his pocket. Definitely a cold. He shivers a little and messes with the thermostat, making the heat come back on.

A few people come in and make a comment about how hot is, but Puck just gives them a weird look. Maybe _they’re_ sick, because it’s not hot in there at all, despite Puck’s best efforts. He’s pretty proud of himself for not sneezing on anyone’s oatmeal or mocha or anything, but it’s probably a good thing that he doesn’t have to work for a couple of days. Gives him a chance to get over it.

When it’s close to eight, though, it’s not just Kurt that shows up, but Kurt, Carole, and even Finn, and he frowns when Carole reaches across the counter and puts her hand on his forehead. “Oh, Noah, you’re burning up.” She shakes her head and looks at Ms. Horatio, who’s just arrived. “I’m going to take him with my two over to the urgent care. I think they’ve got the flu.”

“It’s just a cold,” Puck whispers to Kurt, who shrugs.

“That’s what I thought, but Carole insists it’s not.”

“Puck, why are you yelling, man?” Finn asks. “You’re _so_ loud.” Finn looks pretty awful, flushed and kind of puffy around his eyes, and he’s still in his pajama pants. He turns to the side and coughs loudly, then makes a pitiful face at Carole.

“I was whispering,” Puck protests.

“I thought you were talking normally.” Kurt leans his head over on Puck’s shoulder, and Puck notices Kurt’s just in jeans and a plain sweater, Cons on his feet. “I feel like shit,” Kurt announces a moment later.

“Kurt’s yelling, too!” Finn whines, to no one in particular. “Not so loud, guys!”

“You’re loud,” Kurt complains, burying his face against Puck, and then Carole walks back over.

“Come on, boys. Urgent care shouldn’t be too full this early in the morning.”

“I wanna go hooommme,” Finn moans. “I wanna lie doooowwwn.”

“I forgot how annoying you are when you’re sick,” Puck comments, making a face and following Carole out of the store.

“Moooooom!” Finn whines.

“If I’m right, and you boys have the flu, you’ll want to get some Tamiflu started right away,” Carole responds. “So we’re going to go get you rapid–tested and get prescriptions if you need them.”

Puck frowns as they walk through the hospital. There’s something about this that’s bothering him. He’s forgetting something. They pass by a sign before it hits him, and his eyes widen. “Pretzel!”

“Are you hungry, Noah?”

“Oh, no, I just um. Hannah was talking about them last night.” Puck rolls his eyes. _That_ doesn’t sound stupid.

“What?” Kurt hisses.

“Flu! Bad for Pretzel!” Puck responds, slowly down so they’re farther behind Carole.

Finn drags behind Carole and looks at Puck pitifully. “What are you two yelling about now?”

“The flu, it’d be bad for Pretzel,” Kurt explains quietly.

“Oh no!” Finn looks despondent. “What are gonna do? We’re gonna mutate our baby!”

“Shhh!” Puck hisses.

“ _Pretzel_.” Kurt shakes his head. He waits until they’re about to go into the urgent care center to speak again. “Carole? Really, you don’t have to wait with us. We wouldn’t want to get anyone else sick.”

“Oh, don’t worry, boys, I had my flu shot back in October!” She beams at them. Puck’s not sure if that means anything—what if the flu shot doesn’t work—but maybe it’s better than nothing.

“But… _Pretzel_ ,” Finn half whines and half almost–sobs.

“We can stop and get some pretzels if you boys really need them.” Carole shakes her head. “I mean, they aren’t all that different from eating saltine crackers, I suppose.”

They sign in and Carole’s right, they’re the only three people in the waiting room. It takes longer to fill out the paperwork than it does to get called back to a triage area or whatever, and apparently the nurse knows Carole and agrees to keep them together, since it’s obvious they’re afflicted with the same problem. They’re escorted into a waiting room and the nurse has them all climb up on the table, Puck in the middle. Kurt leans against Puck and closes his eyes as soon as the nurse leaves.

“Mommy,” Finn whispers, leaning his head over on Puck. “My head hurrrts.”

“Hey, get off,” Puck says to Finn, then turns the other way. “Not you, K,” he corrects, since Kurt started to move, too.

“I thought we were _brothers_ ,” Finn complains. “Brothers help each other out and you’re just perfect head height and my head hurts so baaaad.”

“Then I’ll give you Advil,” Puck reasons.

“Do you have Advil now?”

“That’s beside the point.”

“I want water,” Kurt says quietly.

“You three are hilarious,” Carole says, clearly trying not to laugh, and at that point, there’s a knock on the door and a blonde woman walks in.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Hughes.” She smiles at the three of them. “So, Noah, Finn, and Kurt. You three seem to have a nice case of the flu.”

“It’s just a cold,” Kurt protests again, and Puck nods.

She laughs. “We already ran the rapid test. It’s definitely influenza type A.”

“Oh.” Kurt deflates a little.

“What does that mean?” Puck asks. “Is that why I’m so cold?”

“I thought you were just becoming a lizard like me.”

“Are we going to _die_?” Finn whimpers. “Is that like Hepatitis A? Is A the bad kind?”

“It has nothing to do with hepatitis,” Dr. Hughes assures them. “And no, three healthy young men like yourselves have nothing to fear from the flu. Sneezing, runny noses, headaches, coughing, and achy, tired bodies for a few days, yes. And, yes, that’s why you’re cold – you all have some pretty high fevers.” She pauses. “So I’m going to write you each out a script for Tamiflu, and I suggest you pick up some Advil and a cough suppressant as well. Any questions?”

“Yeah, uh, are there any whatdacallits?” Puck frowns. He’s so tired, he just can’t remember the word.

“Are you Noah?” Puck nods, not bothering to correct her. “No, you should be fine, Noah.”

“Okay.”

“Any other questions?”

“Are we going to _die_?”

“Finn, sweetie, she already told you, no.” Carole pauses and then continues. “Not as long as you do exactly what she tells you to do, and what I tell you to do.”

“What’d you tell me to do?” Finn looks very confused. “I don’t think I heard it.”

“Over the next few days, that is,” Carole explains. “If you do exactly what I tell you to do, you won’t have to worry, and you’ll get well quicker.”

“Ok, mommy,” Finn answers, still looking kind of confused.

“Exactly,” Dr. Hughes nods, writing on her prescription pad. “All right, here you go, boys. Come back if you have any signs of complications, but I think you’ll be fine in just a few days. Oh! Do you need a note for school?”

“School,” Kurt groans. “I forgot about it.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” She signs three more pieces of paper, hands them to Carole, and then smiles a final time as she leaves the room.

“She smiles too much. We’re sick, not happy,” Puck grouses.

“I’m not happy,” Finn agrees, shaking his head very sadly.

“Come on, you three. You need to go to Rite Aid and get your prescriptions filled and then head home. Oh, and get your pretzels.” She shakes her head. “Noah, you should get some things from home.”

Puck frowns at her. “Huh?”

“I know Rina can’t take many sick days, you don’t want to get her or Hannah sick,” Carole explains, and Puck nods. Yeah, his mom will get pissed if he gets her sick. “So get some spare clothes and you’ll stay with us. Kurt, are you good to drive?”

Kurt frowns, and Puck can’t help but think that no, Kurt’s not, and as bad as Puck feels, he probably is the best one. “I can,” Puck says, and Kurt looks relieved.

“I don’t wanna drive,” Finn whines. “Do I have to drive, too? I don’t wanna.”

“No, dude,” Puck says wearily as they file out of the room and towards the parking lot. “Just me.”

“I’ll drop by during lunch,” Carole tells them, “but get some orange juice at Rite Aid, and Finn, you’ll want some cough drops, too. I know you don’t like Kurt’s flavors. All right?”

“I want Nyquil. The red kind.”

“The doctor said Advil and a cough suppressant, remember?” Carole shakes her head. “You usually get the cherry Halls.”

“You always give me red Nyquil when I’m sick,” Finn sort of snuffles and then breaks into a round of coughing.

Carole looks like she rolls her eyes, but Puck isn’t sure. “I’ll bring you something at lunch, okay?”

“Ooookaaaay.”

“C’mon,” Puck mumbles. “The faster we get to Rite Aid, the faster we get my sh— stuff, the faster we can go back to bed.”

Rite Aid doesn’t take too long, thankfully, and Puck just grabs some sweatpants and T-shirts and throws them in a duffel bag, but it’s still later than he thought it would be before they get back to the Hudmel house.

“We should text them.” Kurt announces.

“Hmm, yeah.” Puck nods, staring at all the meds lined up on the kitchen table.

“Who are we texting? Do I need to text anybody?” Finn asks, wandering through the kitchen. “I don’t wanna text anybody.”

“The rest of the club,” Kurt answers, pulling his own medicine towards him and then getting up to pour glasses of orange juice. “Rehearsal.”

“Oh no!” Finn moans. “We’re missing rehearsal! We need to go to there!”

“No, man,” Puck groans, shaking his head and then stopping. “Damn, that hurts. No. We text them and say, happy no flu to you.”

“But,” Finn’s argument is interrupted by a coughing fit. “But Regionals!”

“Aren’t for three weeks,” Kurt interjects, setting a glass of orange juice in front of Finn. “Take your pills and then your Robitussin.”

“Ok,” Finn says, obediently taking the medicines and drinking the juice.

“And now!” Kurt announces.

“We go to bed?” Puck asks hopefully, and Kurt nods.

“Bed.”

“Bed,” Finn parrots. “Ok.”

They all manage to get up the stairs, and Finn trails Kurt and Puck into Kurt’s bedroom. Kurt turns and looks at him. “Finn? Your bedroom is over there.” He points. “Not in here.”

“Also I’m getting naked now,” Puck points out, stripping off his shirt from work.

“But I wanna stay with youuuu,” Finn whines. “What if I _die_?”

“Then at least we wouldn’t have the trauma of sleeping with a dead man,” Puck says, stepping out of his pants, and seriously, he’s changed in front of Finn all the time, but it’s a little weird somehow when it’s in Kurt’s bedroom and Kurt’s changing too.

“But… I’m _lonely_.”

“Once you’re asleep, you won’t be,” Kurt says, voice muffled as he pulls on a long–sleeved T-shirt. “This bed isn’t big enough for three teenage boys, Finn.”

Puck shakes his head. “Really not,” he agrees, pulling on sweatpants and a wife-beater and walking over to the bed. Plus, even if he’s sick, he still doesn’t want a third wheel in bed with them.

“Ok,” Finn says, making a pitiful face. “I’ll call you if I die, ok?”

“Great,” Puck agrees, climbing into the bed as Kurt nods at Finn, and Finn turns to wander out of the room.

“I’ll text them,” Kurt promises, moving under the covers and into Puck’s arms. There’s a loud thump after a few moments. “Finn falling onto the bed,” Kurt says to Puck’s questioning look, and Puck nods. “Let’s see. ‘Snap Crackle and Pop have flu. Have fun.’ Sound good?”

“Yeah.” Kurt hits send and sets his phone down. “Now we sleep, blue eyes.”

“Finally.”

 

Puck is vaguely aware of Carole coming in to check on them around 12:30 or 1, but it’s close to 2:30 when Puck actually wakes up. Kurt’s still asleep, but restless, and Puck realizes it’s time for more Robitussin. He winces as he climbs out of bed. Make that more Advil, too.

He makes it downstairs and finds a tray, putting the Robitussin, Advil, and juice all on it, and fumbles his way back upstairs. He peeks in on Finn, who’s snoring, and then walks back into Kurt’s room. Kurt’s sitting up, looking vaguely confused. “Oh, there you are.”

“Medication time,” Puck shrugs, setting the tray down on Kurt’s dresser, and Kurt shuffles over.

“And a shower,” Kurt suggests.

“Yeah, that sounds really good,” Puck nods. “Carole left us some soup in the fridge. I just didn’t know if you wanted to eat yet. Maybe after a shower.”

Kurt nods, and they finish off their juice and head into the bathroom. It’s the least sexy shower they’ve ever shared, but it’s handy to have each other to lean on. When they get out, Finn’s dropped by and taken his own medicine, but he’s back in his bed, asleep, so they don’t warm up any soup for him.

“This sucks.”

“It really does.” Puck nods. “I feel like crap. And we’ve been awake for about 45 minutes, and all I really want to do…”

“…is go back to bed,” Kurt finishes. “Damn. So much for our long weekend.”

“Yeah.” Puck sighs heavily and finishes the last of his soup. “Bed now, K.”

 

The next time Puck wakes up, Kurt’s sitting up beside him, propped on a pillow. “Hey,” he croaks, and Kurt looks down and smiles wanly.

“Hi.”

“What time is it?”

“Six-thirty,” Kurt answers with a yawn. “Dad and Carole are downstairs. We’re expected to try to eat, since we aren’t actually nauseated, but that’s at seven.” He sneezes, and that makes Puck sneeze, too. “Tamiflu with dinner, Robitussin now, Advil after dinner.”

“Okay.” Puck edges into a sitting position and takes the offered cup. It’s a good thing they bought three of the twelve ounce bottles, but they seriously will probably need more, unless this Tamiflu stuff is even more awesome than advertised, so to speak. It’s kind of ridiculous to yawn when he’s been asleep for hours already, but that’s what he does. “Why are we so tired?”

“Because the flu isn’t fun.” Kurt shakes his head. “Most of them sent back get well wishes. Rachel sent back a novella of suggested home remedies and says she’ll be by tomorrow at 11:30 with matzoh ball soup. Conspicuously, Quinn did not respond at all.” Kurt looks vaguely amused by that news.

“Is your dad kicking me out tonight? I know what Carole said, but.”

“He didn’t mention it.” Kurt sneezes again and wipes at his nose, looking frustrated. “If he tries, I’ll just threaten to sneeze on him.”

Puck tries to muster up a laugh, but only manages a smile, and Kurt rolls sideways into him, both of them slumping back down. “How long until dinner?”

“Twenty minutes now?” Kurt guesses. “Long enough for a nap.”

“Yeah.”

 

“Boys! Dinner!” Carole’s voice permeates way too soon, and Puck groans, rolling out of bed and grabbing Kurt’s hand as they step into the hallway. Finn ambles out in front of them, giving them a sleepy wave, and they all fall into their chairs at the kitchen table with little sighs of relief.

“Tamiflu’s beside your juice glasses, I bought some vitamin C fortified apple juice to break up the monotony and also avoid too much acidity.” Carole seems way too chipper, or maybe it’s just that Puck is way too tired. “There’s some grilled chicken, steamed broccoli, and applesauce. Eat two of the three.”

They nod dutifully, and Puck’s contemplating broccoli versus chicken when Burt clears his throat.

“So, Puck, Carole talked to your mom,” Burt says. “You’re gonna stay the night. I can’t imagine anybody’s feeling up to shenanigans, but door stays open anyway. Got it?”

Puck nods, looking up for just a moment. “Okay.”

“I want shenanigans,” Finn says. “Can I have that instead of chicken or broccoli?” Finn looks flushed and kind of out of it.

Carole looks at Finn strangely—well, they all four do, actually, because really, Finn?—and then puts her hand to Finn’s face. “I think you should take two Advil,” she pronounces. “Why they don’t do over the counter medications by weight, I don’t know.”

“Like they do for babies,” Burt suggests. “Dosage by weight. That would be helpful.”

“I don’t want baby medicine,” Finn mumbles. “I want red Nyquil.”

“I’ll bring you some when I bring your evening Robitussin,” Carole announces.

“Can I trade broccoli for more applesauce?” Puck finally asks.

“Can I trade dinner for bed?” Finn asks.

“Yes, Noah, that’s fine. No, Finn, you need to eat something to help you get better.”

Kurt puts down his fork heavily. “I ate chicken and applesauce. I feel like I ran a marathon.”

“Go up to bed, kid,” Burt says. “Get some more rest.”

Kurt nods and turns to Puck. “You almost done?”

Puck nods. “Just a minute.”

“Okay.” Kurt yawns and takes his Advil, then heads back upstairs. Puck looks over at Finn to see that Finn’s head is on the table, next to his plate. Puck shakes his head and scrapes the last of the applesauce off his plate, then takes his own Advil with the last of his juice.

“Oh,” Carole says as Puck stands. “Noah, tell Kurt, too. Burt or I will be home tomorrow, mainly so we can make sure you all get your medication on the proper schedule.”

“Okay.” Puck nods, then winces, regretting it.

“You go get some rest, too, kid,” Burt orders. “Door.”

Puck isn’t sure if Burt means to go through the door or to leave the doors open, but either way doesn’t really matter, so he just heads back upstairs, too, swapping out his sweaty wifebeater for a fresh one and crawling back into bed beside Kurt. “This sucks,” he mumbles.

“I know,” Kurt mutters back, nodding against Puck’s shoulder.

 

Thursday evening blends into Thursday night and then the early hours of Friday in a haze of restless sleep and waking up for more medicine. Carole shakes them awake around 7 am and brings them oatmeal and an orange, along with more apple juice and Tamiflu. “Burt will be here until around noon,” she tells them quietly. “And Kurt, I remember you said Rachel was coming by, he’ll probably leave when she gets here. I don’t know how long she’ll be here, but I’ll be here by one. Burt has the schedule for your medication, and I’ll change the sheets this afternoon. Just rest, okay boys?”

They nod around their spoonfuls of oatmeal, and she leaves the room, probably to repeat the same speech with Finn. By the time they finish, they’re tired again, though not as tired as when they had to go downstairs to eat. Hopefully they can eat all their meals upstairs for the day.

“You want a shower?” Kurt asks tiredly when Carole’s collected the dishes.

“I do, but not enough to move,” Puck decides, popping a lozenge in his mouth. Kurt’s insistent that these are lozenges, and what Finn has are cough drops.

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees with a nod. “That’s where I’m at too. Let’s just sleep more.”

“Sounds good.” Puck burrows back under the covers and pulls Kurt close. “If I just had a little more energy,” he bemoans.

“Mmm. Yeah. Happy Presidents’ Day weekend,” Kurt giggles tiredly.

 

The next time Puck wakes up, he hears more voices, and Kurt isn’t beside him. He groans a little and reaches out a little farther. The sheets are still warm, and he realizes he hears Finn and Rachel. Suddenly there’s less light in front of his eyes, and he realizes that there’s someone leaning over him. He opens his eyes and then shuts them quickly. “Am I awake, or is this one of those nightmares where you harvest my organs while I’m still alive?”

Rachel giggles. “It’s just a mask to prevent me from getting the flu as well!”

“It’s scary, is what it is,” Puck grumbles, rolling to the other side and pushing himself up. “You already harvested Kurt, I see.”

“What?” Finn mumbles, and Puck can see him sort of looming behind Rachel. “What’s going on?”

“You tell me,” Puck answers. “I just woke up to a party–slash–hospital scene.”

“I don’t even know why I’m in here,” Finn says. “Rachel made me follow her. I wanna go back to bed.”

“So we can all eat together, of course!” Rachel says, and really, she’s far too chipper. “Also, Finn, exercise makes you healthy! Too much time in bed can make muscles atrophy.”

“We keep walking from the bed to the bathroom and back, doesn’t that count?” Kurt’s voice interjects, and Puck looks up to see him coming back into the room. “What are we eating, Rachel?”

“Matzoh ball soup! And, of course, I brought myself a vegan alternative.”

“Of course,” Puck nods, then shakes his head. “Ow. Did Carole…?”

Rachel stares blankly at him. “Did Carole what?”

“Meds?”

“Oh, yes!” Rachel leaves the room in a hurry, and Puck turns to Finn with a raised eyebrow. “Dude.”

“I wanna go back to bed,” Finn says, and he’s a little less whiny than yesterday, but not that much less. “Can I make her go away? Do you think she’ll go?”

“No, and no.”

“No power in the ’verse,” Puck agrees, nodding.

“I’m just laying down on the floor right here until she comes back, ok?” Finn says, doing exactly that.

“Either he got a worse case, K, or you were right.”

“Of course I’m right.” Kurt yawns. “What am I right about?”

Puck grins and starts to reply when Rachel returns bearing a tray, with a disgruntled looking Burt behind her with another tray.

“I have your soup, Finn!” she trills, setting down her tray on Kurt’s desk. Really, a little close to the laptop, Puck thinks, and Kurt and Burt must think so too, because they both wince. “And Burt has your medicines, boys.”

“I don’t want soup,” Finn groans. “I want my bed. And Nyquil.”

“I brought you some Nyquil,” Burt says, “but you’ve gotta get up and eat the soup first.”

“Is it red?” Finn whispers, still on the floor.

“Yeah, it’s red. Sit up and eat soup.”

Finn hauls himself into a semi–sitting, semi–leaning against the bed position. “I’ll eat soup, but then I’m going back to bed. And I’m staying on the floor until I go back to bed.”

“You’re very grumpy,” Kurt observes, accepting a bowl of soup from Rachel, and Puck nods.

“He always is when he’s sick.” He frowns at the liquid in his bowl. “This is real matzoh ball soup, right?”

“Yes, Noah, Dad was kind enough to handle cooking the meat for me.”

“All right.” Puck sniffs at it, still a little suspicious, but dips his spoon in.

“This soup tastes like nothing,” Finn whines. “I can’t breathe through my nose.”

And now Puck is reminded of the downside of staying with Kurt, because the soup is actually pretty good, considering that Rachel made it, and Puck can’t breathe through _his_ nose, either. “I think it’s good, actually,” Kurt says, shaking his head a little. “Definitely better than whatever it is Rachel’s eating. No offense, Rachel.”

“None intended!” Rachel chirps. “Mine is a vegan bean soup with added vegetables and herbs to help boost my immune system.”

“That stuff never works,” Burt snorts. “You don’t want to get the flu, you get the flu shot like me and Carole did.”

“I thought it was for senior citizens and like, people in the ICU or something,” Puck admits. “All those ads are always like, old ladies with walkers.”

“I think I need a walker,” Finn whimpers from his spot on the floor.

“Dude, suck it up,” Puck finally says. “It’s the flu, not Ebola.”

“You don’t know it’s not Ebola. They didn’t do a rapid Ebola test,” Finn argues. “It could be—” He interrupts himself with a nasty–sounding wet cough.

“Bunnies,” Kurt says sagely. “Or a dancing demon.”

“I never understand what you kids are talking about,” Burt says, shaking his head. “Kurt, is your fever back up again?”

“That’s just what I was going to ask!” Rachel interjects, nodding.

“It’s just a Buffy reference,” Puck explains as Kurt nods, mouth full of matzoh ball. “But I’m pretty sure it’s not Ebola, either.”

“When I start bleeding from my eyes, you’ll change your tune,” Finn grumbles. “This soup is pretty good, Rach. When I can taste it.”

“Thank you, Finn!”

“I don’t think I can eat more,” Kurt announces. “Medicine now?”

“I feel like I should open up a pharmacy,” Puck grumbles. “Don’t eat grapefruit, take this then, this later.”

“I finished my soup. Can I go to bed?” Finn asks. “Also, can I have Nyquil?”

“I’ll take Finn’s medicine in there,” Rachel offers, and she slides the mask back on. “If that’s all right, Burt?”

“That’s fine,” Burt says. “Door open, Finn.”

Finn’s answer is a loud round of coughing, coupled with a tiny nod of his head. Rachel takes the tray with Finn’s medicines and walks briskly out of Kurt’s bedroom, Finn wandering after her. Once they’re out of the room, Burt gives Puck an odd look.

“Grapefruit? Is that a Rachel thing?”

Puck shakes his head. “The BuSpar, something about grapefruit and metabolism. I don’t know. I don’t really eat grapefruit so it’s not a big deal, I guess.”

“Yeah, I think that Carole said something about that after my heart thing, something about the cholesterol meds,” Burt says. “I’ll be honest with you, I can’t stand the stuff.”

“Good excuse not to drink grapefruit juice,” Puck nods.

“I like tangerines better,” Kurt announces. “Sleep now? Shower later?”

“Carole said she’d change the sheets after she gets home, and let you two take your showers then,” Burt says. “So why don’t you get some more rest. I’m gonna head in to work for a while. You call me, or have Finn’s nursemaid call me, if you need me.”

Kurt giggles, and Puck cracks a grin, both of them nodding. “Okay, Dad.” Kurt sneezes. “Eat an orange or something, just in case. This is awful.”

“Eh, I had my flu shot,” Burt answers, waving the suggestion away. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Bye, Dad.”

“Bye, Kurt. You rest.”

 

Finn crawls into his bed and under his layer of about eight blankets, because he kept feeling cold even after his mom added extra ones, so she had to keep on adding them.

“Can I have my Nyquil now?”

“Of course!” Rachel frowns a little behind her mask. “It seems odd that you would take Nyquil _and_ Advil _and_ Robitussin, but I suppose if the doctor said so.” She shrugs and hands the medicine to Finn.

“My mom says I can,” Finn says. “And she says I have to do everything she says so I get better faster.” He takes the Nyquil and drinks it. The best part about red Nyquil is how it tastes exactly like tropical punch–flavored Kool-Aid.

“I brought over a tincture of echinacea as well as zinc supplements,” Rachel announces, “and goldenseal as well!”

“I don’t think I need those things,” Finn says. “I have Nyquil and Tamiflu.”

“Everything you can do to strengthening your immune system helps!” Rachel protests. “Also, you should consider adding some essential oils to your shower to help support healthy lung function, and I’ll do some research later about Tamiflu, that might not be the best choice.”

“The doctor said to take it, Rach. I need to get better.”

“Of course you do,” Rachel says, and she’s probably smiling sympathetically. “But I just think you should consider less allopathic solutions.”

“I don’t know what kind of pathic it is,” Finn answers, confused. “It’s just what the doctor and my mom told me to take, and I’m supposed to do what they say.”

Rachel shakes her head. “Finn, you need to learn to think for yourself.”

“What?” Finn says, shocked. “Rachel, why would you say that? That’s just… _mean_!”

“It’s true!” Rachel protests. “You can’t just blindly follow instructions! I’m just saying that you should consider other options!”

“I think for myself all the time,” Finn replies, angrily, and it sends him into another fit of that awful, painful coughing. “And I think my mom and the doctor both know what they’re talking about with this stuff. I’m already feeling better than yesterday.”

Rachel’s eyes are wide above her mask. “I don’t think that’s possible,” she frets. “You are in very bad shape.” She huffs. “That said, rehearsal yesterday was a complete disaster. No one listened to me.”

“Well, did you tell them that they couldn’t think for themselves? ’Cause maybe that’s why,” Finn answers, sliding down further under his covers. “I’m getting better as fast as I can. I think everybody will be fine without me for a few days.”

“I don’t know,” Rachel protests. “We have people going to so many auditions and our rehearsal time is growing short! Can’t you at least instruct people to rehearse on their own? It wouldn’t hurt the three of you to do a quick run–through, you could do one song at a time!”

“Rachel, we have the _flu_!” Finn stares are her like she’s insane, because she probably is. “I’m not going to school and making everybody else sick, and I’m not putting myself in the hospital just ’cause you’ve got auditions and it’s cutting into your rehearsal time.” This whole thing is making him tired, and Finn finds himself wishing she’d just go away. Go home, go to New York, he doesn’t even care. He wants to sleep.

“I’m sure you’ll be well by Tuesday,” Rachel sighs, “but in the meantime, we’re losing valuable rehearsal time. I’m going to make sure everyone still comes for rehearsal on Sunday evening, Finn!”

“Everybody but us. We’re not.”

“It’s scheduled to be here,” Rachel points out. “Surely you three can sit downstairs.”

“Reschedule it somewhere else,” Finn grumbles. “We’re supposed to rest so we don’t get second infections or whatever.”

Rachel’s chin juts out, and she nods once sharply, which might be her giving in, or might not be. “Fine, Finn.” She stalks towards the door. “I’ll text you tomorrow after services to see how you are.” With that, she disappears out the door, and Finn can hear her little footsteps pounding rapidly down the stairs.

He’s not really sure what happened, just that it sucked, and he has a hard time even feeling guilty about the tremendous amount of relief he feels now that she’s gone and he can take a nap and cough in peace.

 

Rachel’s soup and a shower followed by fresh sheets are the high points of Puck’s Friday, as far as he can tell. Dinner is in bed again, more applesauce with whole–wheat toast covered in cream cheese. It’s a lot easier to contemplate eating than the broccoli the night before. After the food is gone, they even sit up in bed for another thirty minutes before lying back down.

“Think we’ll feel better tomorrow?”

“Dunno,” Puck admits as they burrow back under the covers. He slides a hand around Kurt’s waist and when Kurt’s shirt slides up a little and his fingers brush over exposed skin, they both shiver a little. “Yeah, maybe,” he changes his answer, quirking his lips.

“Yeah.” Kurt snuggles against Puck’s chest. “Maybe we could stay awake long enough to check email or watch a movie.”

Puck nods, closing his eyes. “Yeah. That’d be good.”

“It would.” Kurt sneezes, then yawns, then sneezes again. “But not tonight.”

“No.” Puck exhales deeply. “Night, blue eyes.”

“Night, baby.”

 

Breakfast on Saturday is a choice of toast with cream cheese or oatmeal, and Puck thinks that normally he’d be getting bored with it, but it’s flavored cream cheese and it’s good, along with orange juice and a lot of medicine. They stay awake for exactly forty-five minutes afterwards, changing clothes and checking email, before napping until lunch, which is the leftover soup from Rachel.

They nap again immediately after that, but then they sit up, and Puck feels like maybe he will be human again at some point. Finn appears in the doorway, which isn’t a surprise, as his arrival was heralded by a hacking cough in the hallway.

“Come in before you fall over,” Puck suggests, because Finn’s cough really does sound worse than theirs.

“Thanks, dude,” Finn croaks. “Breathing fail.” He comes over and sits down heavily on the bed next to Puck and Kurt. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Sitting up,” Kurt responds, and he sounds both amused and a little proud.

“I _walked_!” Finn answers. “All the way down the hall!”

“It’s getting better all the time.”

“I just wish this cough would stop,” Finn says. “I don’t mean to be gross, but I’m coughing up, like, planets and live mice and stuff. It’s awful.”

“Throats need to be more like noses,” Puck muses. “You know. Handkerchief, blow out, bam. Done.”

“That’s so gross, dude.”

“And coughing up live mice isn’t?”

“Oh, yeah, I guess it is.”

“Such wholesome, lovely conversation we’re having,” Kurt remarks. “No wonder we don’t have any visitors.”

“That’s probably more because they’re scared of getting infected,” Puck points out, lying his head on Kurt’s shoulder. “Which, not saying they’re wrong.”

“So, I meant to talk to you guys earlier,” Finn says, lying back on the bed, “but we were busy trying not to die. I talked to Karofsky on Wednesday.”

“Did he say what color?”

“Well, yeah, yellow, but that’s not all we talked about.” Finn makes a pained face. “It’s… it’s like _bad_ stuff.”

“Yellow?” Puck repeats and shakes his head. “What kind of bad?”

“So, you know how we’ve talked about how we think stuff’s pretty bad at home for Casey, right?”

Kurt nods. “Yeah. I mean, that’s part of why we’re doing the car in the first place.”

“It’s worse than we thought, dude,” Finn says, sitting up again. “His dad is, well, Karofsky says Casey’s dad is, like, _hitting_ him. Like beating him up.”

“Fuck.” Puck exhales and closes his eyes, and he can feel Kurt shudder a little.

“Is he sure?” Kurt asks quietly, and Puck finds Kurt’s hand, wrapping their fingers together and squeezing tight.

“Yeah,” Finn nods. “I mean, I think that if anybody would know what’s really going on, it’s Karofsky, right? And… you remember that PFLAG meeting a little while back? The one where Casey was acting so weird and wouldn’t look at anybody?”

Kurt nods, and Puck does, too. “Yeah?” Puck questions.

“Well, apparently it was because of his dad. He got hit or something. Karofsky didn’t know what to do about any of it. He’s thinking about talking to Ms. Pillsbury, but Casey _really_ doesn’t want him to.” Finn’s face is contorted into a mix of rage and sadness.

“Dammit,” Kurt shakes his head. “God. I don’t even know – Finn, can we tell Dad?”

“Karofsky didn’t say we couldn’t,” Finn says, “but I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know what Burt can do that Ms. Pillsbury can’t.”

Puck just looks at him for a second. “Ms. P’s great, but you have to admit she’s kind of… naive.”

Kurt nods and picks up his phone, shooting off a quick text. “Exactly.”

It takes just a few moments of silence before there are footsteps on the stairs. “Kurt, you okay, kiddo?” Burt pops his head into the room. “Everything alright?”

“ _I’m_ fine,” Kurt assures him, “but you need to hear this.”

Finn coughs again and gives Kurt a look. “Maybe he should sit or something.”

“Yeah,” Puck agrees, nodding, and Kurt gestures to his desk chair silently.

“Nobody’s pregnant, right?” Burt asks, sitting down.

Puck chokes, and Kurt makes a funny face. “Just Zachary Quinto.”

 _And Carole_ Puck’s brain finishes.

“I don’t know who that is, but you boys are kinda freaking me out, you know that?”

“It’s about Casey,” Kurt begins, then stops and looks at Finn.

“It’s bad, Burt,” Finn says. “I was talking to Karofsky before we got sick and, well, you know that he and Casey are like, you know, tight or whatever? Anyway, Karofsky says that Casey’s dad has been hitting him. It’s apparently, like, _really_ bad. Karofsky was gonna talk to Ms. Pillsbury, but I mean, what else are we supposed to do? Are we supposed to do something?” Finn runs out of breath and goes straight into a shaking cough. Puck hands him one of Kurt’s lozenges, figuring Finn’s not going to complain too much if it’s the only thing there.

A dark look passes across Burt’s face and he looks shocked. “Christ, Finn! Is Karofsky sure about this?”

Finn nods. “He’d know. Anyway, Casey got really upset when Karofsky wanted to tell Ms. Pillsbury, so I think it’s definitely true.”

“It makes sense, Dad,” Kurt picks the narrative back up. “Casey’s not – I mean, there’s nothing you’d notice from just once, but put it all together.”

“Yeah, like that time he got all apologetic that he couldn’t pay us back $1.50 for a pop,” Puck points out. “I mean, he wasn’t going to _eat_ at all that day.”

“Karofsky says they don’t really feed him enough,” Finn adds. “And that he doesn’t even have a real coat. I mean, have you guys ever seen him in a real coat?”

“No,” Puck has to admit. “No boots, either.”

“Or gloves.”

“Shit!” Finn says. “Sorry, Burt. Just, shit! How did we not put two and two together?”

“There’s lots of people in Lima that don’t have much,” Kurt says quietly. “I mean, I don’t think we’d ever want to make someone self-conscious about that. So.”

“I just thought his dad was probably kind of a jerk or something,” Finn says. “Like a lot of people are, and Casey was ok as long as he didn’t come out or anything.”

“Boys, this is all really upsetting,” Burt says, shaking his head. “Finn, do you know for sure if Karofsky reported this?”

“I haven’t seen him since Wednesday,” Finn says. “ ’Cause, flu. I was gonna text him or something, though, after I talked to Kurt and Puck.”

“I’ll do you one step better. I’m calling Paul.”

Puck exchanges a surprised look with Kurt, who looks equally surprised, and then they look at Finn, who shrugs and shakes his head a little.

“We’ve talked some,” Burt says. “I met him at Porter’s for a beer a couple time. We’ve got some stuff in common that we can talk about, and I dunno. It made me feel better about the whole situation with Kurt back at McKinley, hearing what was going on with him and his kid.” Burt stands up, presumably to head downstairs. “You boys did the right thing, letting me know.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt says quietly.

“I’ll come back up after. You boys get some rest until then.”

Burt walks back downstairs and Kurt exhales heavily. “Poor Casey.”

“I feel like shit about this,” Finn says. “I mean, I feel like shit anyway, but extra. Do you think this is gonna make it worse for him?”

“It’s either going to make it a lot worse or a lot better, frankly,” Puck says.

“How much worse could it _get_ , though?” Finn asks. “I mean, it can’t be much worse than what he’s dealing with now.”

Puck swallows and looks at Kurt, who’s biting his lip. “A lot,” Puck says quietly.

Kurt nods. “Best case scenario, they remove him, and he doesn’t go back.”

“What’s worst case?” Finn asks.

“I don’t think you want to know, Finn,” Puck answers after a moment, when he can tell Kurt’s not going to be able to respond.

Finn scrunches up his face in a look of profound puzzlement or thought, but he doesn’t ask for an explanation. “I think I’m gonna go text Karofsky,” he says. “I wanna lie down some more.”

“Okay.” Kurt nods. “You want to come in here for dinner?”

“Yeah. Yeah, if that’s ok.”

“Of course.”

“Ok,” Finn says, standing up, but not heading for the door. “Burt and Mr. Karofsky are gonna fix it, right?”

“Sure,” Puck nods, because he knows it’s what Finn needs to hear. “They’ll know what to do.”

“Ok,” Finn says, looking a little more upbeat. “I’ll go text Karofsky and I’ll see you guys at dinner time.” With that, he shuffles down the hall and back into his room.

Puck sighs and looks at Kurt. “He doesn’t realize?”

Kurt shakes his head. “No.”

After dinner, Kurt props his laptop on the dresser and they watch _Anger Management_ over Netflix, cuddled against each other. When the movie ends, Kurt climbs out of bed long enough to shut his laptop and move it back to his desk. “Tomorrow I have to try to do homework.”

“I know.” Puck closes his eyes. “This is so lame, it’s 8:45.”

“I’m exhausted, lame or not.”

“Yeah.” Puck sighs. “Let’s go to sleep.”

 

They manage about an hour of attempting to do homework, finally giving up when Carole reminds them the note they have actually excuses them from Tuesday’s classes as well, so if they need to take Tuesday to do homework or to just impress their teachers that they showed up, they can.

At the end of another nap, Puck’s phone rings, and he answers it with a yawn. “Hello.”

“Hi, Noah!” Hannah’s voice pours through the phone. “Are you feeling better?”

“Hey, squirt.” Puck pushes himself into something approaching a sitting position and mouths ‘Hannah’ at Kurt, who nods. “You aren’t sick, are you?”

“Nope! I’ve been eating oranges and drinking milk and washing my hands really good. And I stayed with Nana Friday instead of aftercare ‘camp’ so that was awesome.”

“How’s Nana?”

“Nana’s good, she went to services yesterday with us and then we played Mario Kart all afternoon.” Puck chuckles. “Nana added your names to the misheberach list, but I don’t think Kurt and Finn have Hebrew names, and I didn’t know Kurt’s mom’s name at all.”

“I think the big guy can probably figure it out anyway,” Puck reassures her. “That’s cool. What are you doing—” he pauses and sneezes “—tomorrow?”

“Eww, Noah!”

“Hey, you knew I was sick.”

“Nana’s coming here tomorrow, Mom still has to work. When are you coming home, Noah?”

“I don’t know, Hannah. I have to make sure I’m not going to get you guys sick before I do, okay?”

“Will you come to dinner tomorrow night?”

“Probably not,” Puck has to admit. “I already called out of work for tomorrow, when I called about today. Hopefully I’ll be home Tuesday or Wednesday.”

“Okay!” Hannah seems more upbeat at that news. “Oh, Mom says I have to do my homework now so Nana doesn’t have to supervise it. Bye, Noah!”

“Bye, squirt.” Puck shakes his head as he puts his phone down. “That girl.”

“Reminds me of her brother,” Kurt grins at him.

“Ouch. Harsh, K.”

Kurt leans over and kisses him briefly. “You’ll live, baby.”

“Yeah, probably,” Puck admits, then sneezes. “How about you?”

“I feel better right now. I don’t know how long that will last. You want to use the laptop to check stuff?”

“Yeah, okay.” Puck nods. Sometimes he’s not convinced email and Facebook and shit aren’t more trouble than anything, because if you don’t check them, they pile up awful. Facebook is mostly a mess of people posting get well messages on his Wall, and his email is spam and a note from his piano professor excusing his absence. There is a message from Shelby, though, that she’s updated the pictures of Beth, and she’s sorry it’s been since the beginning of the year. “Hey.”

“What’s up?”

“Shelby posted more pictures.” Kurt puts down his iPad and snuggles against Puck’s side immediately, not saying anything, just smiling slightly. “She says things have been busy, her after–school lessons have picked up.”

“That’s good?”

“Yeah, I think Beth’s not going to daycare as much, or something.” Puck shrugs. “Aw, look, you can barely see her in that snowsuit!”

Kurt grins. “At least you know she wasn’t getting cold?”

“Yeah, exactly.” Puck bites his lip and looks at the screen. “I get to see her in June, Kurt.”

“I know, baby.” Kurt squeezes his hand.

“Shelby, she said. She said to send her a picture. Of me, so she could show Beth, and if I wanted to, a recording of like, me singing or something.”

“That’s great. Isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It is.” Puck exhales. “It’s just… so real. Like, Shelby _said_ I could see her, but it’s always seemed so far in the future and now.”

“Now she gets to meet her Daddy.” Kurt’s voice is quiet and sure. “She’ll love you, Puck.”

“I hope so.” Puck hands the laptop back to Kurt and curls against Kurt’s side. “I’m ready to get well now. I’m ready for the year to hurry up and finish now.”

Kurt nods and turns towards him after setting his laptop down, settling Puck in his arms. “I know. Me too.”

 

When dinner rolls around, Carole suggests that they all actually come downstairs for dinner, and then maybe watch a movie afterwards. Roasted chicken and mashed potatoes actually sounds good and all three of them manage to eat a plateful of that plus some canned peaches, so Puck really starts to think that they might get out of bed for more than a few hours sometime soon. He and Kurt still both eat more than Finn, which is just weird, but Finn’s still coughing a lot worse than they are, too.

“Dude, maybe you should go back to the doctor,” Puck points out after Finn spends a minute straight coughing.

“Yeah, I think maybe I’ll go tomorrow,” Finn says, once he catches his breath. “I thought the coughing was supposed to be better by now.”

“Yes, ours is,” Kurt points out, frowning.

Before Finn responds, the doorbell rings, and Kurt looks up, frowning. “That’s weird, usually the Jesus people don’t come on Sundays.”

Finn looks pale and a weird look crosses his face. “She _didn’t_ ,” he hisses. “Tell me she didn’t.”

“Who didn’t what?” Puck asks.

“Boys?” Carole calls. “There’s um.” She stops, sounding perplexed, and a minute later, Burt appears back in the kitchen.

“Shit,” Finn mutters under his breath. “She did, didn’t she?”

“Guys, you didn’t tell me that practice was still on for tonight,” Burt says, looking a little awkward.

“We… didn’t think it was,” Kurt says slowly.

“I told Rachel to cancel it,” Finn says. “She said she would.”

“Did she?” Kurt asks. “I mean, out loud, that exact sentence?”

“Well, no, not in those words,” Finn answers, looking thoughtful, “and she did argue with me about it, but when I told her she needed to cancel it, she said fine.”

Kurt sighs. “Well, I guess we can sit and talk to them as well as sit and watch a movie.” He looks down. “After I go change clothes.”

Puck stands up. “Who’s here?”

“Rachel, Mike and Tina, Santana and Brittany,” Burt answers, and the doorbell rings. “And apparently somebody else.”

“Burt, can you send Rachel in here, please?” Finn asks, his eyes narrowing. Burt nods and heads back to the foyer.

Kurt slips out of the kitchen, no doubt disturbed at the idea of entertaining in pajama pants, but Puck figures sweatpants and a wifebeater with a hoodie isn’t that weird for him, so he walks into the living room, and Mike, Tina, Santana, and Brittany walk in a moment later.

“Hey, Puck!” Tina smiles at him. “Feeling better?”

“A little, yeah,” Puck nods. “Thursday and Friday sucked, though.”

“I made a copy of our notes for math on Friday for you,” Mike says. “You going to be there tomorrow?”

Puck shakes his head. “Nah. Don’t really want to get pneumonia or something.”

“Makes sense,” Mike nods.

“Where’s Kurt?” Brittany asks. “Did you trade houses with him?”

Puck laughs. “He was wearing pajamas, so he went upstairs to put on real clothes.” The doorbell rings, then, and Santana goes to let the rest of them in.

“Wow, that’s dedication!” Sam says when he sees Puck on the sofa. “You came over here just for rehearsal.”

Puck blinks at him. “What? No. I’ve been here since Thursday. Trying to keep Hannah from getting sick.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Sam grins. “Since I’m sure she’d get Stevie sick, thanks!”

Kurt reappears, then, wearing a pair of jeans with a long–sleeved T-shirt.

“Wow, Kurt,” Artie says. “You look so…”

“Ill?” Kurt finishes.

“I was going to say dressed–down, but it’s a nice look,” Artie says.

“Thanks, I think.” Kurt drops down into Burt’s recliner and pulls the ratty throw over him, curling into a little ball. Finn and Rachel finally emerge from the kitchen then, both of them visibly upset. Finn looks like a thundercloud took up residence between his eyebrows or something, and Rachel either has been crying or developed a case of pink eye. Everyone looks at them without trying to look like they’re watching them, and when Finn heads for the sofa, they clear a spot on the far end without Finn having to even ask.

“So, I’m not sure how we’re supposed to rehearse,” Mike says gamely, tone very light. “I don’t think a quarter of us can sing or dance tonight.”

Finn just coughs, glowering at the room in general, and Puck sighs.

“We could work on deciding who will sing what for Nationals?” Kurt suggests, then sneezes.

“Yeah,” Finn answers, with an additional round of coughing. “Why don’t you guys come up with ideas for that.”

“Go back to bed, Finn,” Kurt suggests. “You don’t need to get pneumonia.”

“Why does Finn sound so much worse than you and Puck?” Mercedes asks.

“It went to his chest or something,” Puck answers.

“I’m fine to sit here,” Finn grumbles, though he doesn’t stop coughing or glowering.

“If you’re sure,” Kurt nods.

“Of course he doesn’t need to go to bed, Kurt, don’t be silly. Sitting down here isn’t any more taxing.” Rachel doesn’t look at Finn while she’s talking, and Puck thinks that to be the one who isn’t sick, she’s sure acting dumb.

Kurt raises a single eyebrow at her and flips open his iPad, propping it on his knees. “Any other comments or concerns?”

“What are we supposed to do if Finn doesn’t get better in time for Regionals?” Quinn asks. “Do we need an understudy for him?”

“If it takes Finn three weeks to get better, I think we have bigger problems than just an understudy,” Kurt points out.

“You know I’m right here, right?” Finn says, trying and failing to stifle a cough.

“Fine, if it takes _you_ three weeks to get better, we all have a bigger problem than just Regionals.”

“I’m going back to the doctor tomorrow.”

“Exactly. So, any _other_ concerns or questions or comments?” Brittany raises her hand. “Yes, Brittany?”

“Would you like me to sing you a song to help you feel better?”

“Um.” Kurt exchanges a glance with Puck and tries to exchange one with Finn, but he’s still glowering. “What did you have in mind?”

“When I’m sick, my mom always sings ‘Hush, Little Baby’ to me,” Brittany says. “I can sing that to you. It works best if someone pets your hair while they’re singing it.”

“Thank you, Brittany, but I think we’ll skip that for tonight,” Kurt says after a moment’s pause. “Anyone else?”

“I brought Zicam and some delicious organic echinacea tea bags, enough for everyone to fortify their immune system!”

“Nobody’d have to fortify if you hadn’t dragged everybody over to our house,” Finn mutters.

“Is that that zinc stuff?” Mercedes shakes her head. “My dad said that was a scam.”

“Yes, well.” Rachel looks flustered. “Often allopathic medicine discounts the value of other modalities.”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Finn coughs, then actually starts coughing, loud and wet and rattling. “Screw this, I’m going up to bed. Night, everybody.” He hauls himself up off the sofa and up the stairs without so much as a look back in Rachel’s direction.

“Let me be more clear. Any thoughts on the _music_?” Kurt looks like he’s torn between yelling and just following Finn up the stairs. Puck personally votes for up the stairs, because for the first time in days, he’s got energy for more than just eating and sleeping.

Mike shakes his head. “This was clearly a bad idea. We should have checked directly with you or Finn. I’m sorry, Kurt.” He looks around the room. “I think we’re far enough ahead of the curve right now that we’ll be fine. We can all be thinking about arrangements and solos for those songs, and everyone can practice singing on their own.”

With that, Mike stands, offering a hand to Tina, and the rest of them slowly make their way out of the house, murmuring apologies and feel–betters to Kurt and Puck both as they exit. Soon, the only three left are Kurt, Puck, and, inexplicably, Rachel.

“I should go up and check on him,” Rachel starts. “And I can leave—”

“Rachel.” Kurt interrupts her. “Yes, you can leave. That’s enough. Hopefully no one else gets sick.” He sneezes. “Please leave. We’re tired.”

Rachel’s face falls, and she looks towards Puck as if for support, but he shakes his head, and she deflates a little further, then leaves without saying anything else.

“We should check on Finn, I guess,” Puck says after the door closes.

Kurt nods. “M’tired again now.” He unfolds himself from the recliner and drops onto the couch beside Puck. “I’ll text him and see if he wants to come watch a movie still.”

Kurt does that, sending a quick message first to Finn and then a shorter one to Burt that the rest of them are gone. After a few minutes, Finn comes dragging down the stairs with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“That was a fuck shit stack,” he says.

“Why did she do that?” Kurt asks quietly, fumbling with the remote.

“Because she’s insane?” Finn answers, throwing himself down into the recliner. “Because she always thinks she knows better’n everybody else? I have no idea.”

“Most of the rest of ’em said to tell you sorry,” Puck informs Finn. “Apparently it didn’t occur to them to confirm Rachel’s story.”

Finn’s answer is another burst of coughing and some kind of hand gesture that could be agreement or could be rude. It’s hard to tell.

“Walking Dead pilot?” Kurt suggests, finally getting the Netflix menu to come up.

“Yeah, sounds good,” Puck agrees, wrapping his arm around Kurt’s shoulders.

Finn spends most of the pilot pointing out zombies and saying things like, “See that one? That’s how I feel. I feel your pain, dude.” Carole brings him in a medicine cup with a different variety of Robitussin, this one, she says, for chest congestion, and Finn takes it with only minimal bitching that it’s not red Nyquil.

“That woman is such a bitch.” Kurt shakes his head at the woman on the television screen.

Puck half–tunes out the show, and when Carole’s headed back upstairs, he turns Kurt’s head towards him and kisses him very gently. He can feel Kurt’s lips grinning underneath his, and he tentatively deepens the kiss. By the time they pull apart, the show’s over, and Finn’s snoring in the recliner. “Should we wake him up?” Puck asks.

“No,” Kurt shakes his head. “Maybe it’ll be better for him, sitting up to sleep.”

“Good point.” Puck stands up reluctantly and offers Kurt a hand. “We’re doing better and he’s not.”

“No, he’s really not.” Kurt sighs. “I think Carole’s taking him back to urgent care first thing.”

“Good.” They add their throw on top of Finn, and then slowly make their way up the stairs and back to bed.

 

Sleep is less elusive on Sunday night, and the times that Puck does wake up, Kurt wakes up, too, and Puck is pretty sure they’re getting closer to those shenanigans Burt wanted them to avoid. Of course, maybe Kurt could just convince him that it’s a good sign, a sign that they are getting well. Carole comes in early with meds and breakfast, and then they hear her leave with Finn shortly after Burt leaves for work.

“They’re gone?” Puck confirms, looking at Kurt, who nods, and Puck grins a little.

“Feeling better?” Kurt asks, head tilted.

“Better enough,” Puck responds, and then Kurt’s lips are on his, rough and chapped and this should be disgusting. They’re both a little gross and worse for the wear, and it’s their fifth day of being in bed, but it feels good, so good, to have Kurt’s skin under his hands, and Kurt’s hands pushing underneath his wifebeater.

“Oh, god, baby,” Kurt pants, pulling away. “Need you, but.”

“Yeah.” Puck buries his face in Kurt’s shoulder and slides his hand into Kurt’s pajama pants. “Like this, K.”

Kurt sighs loudly as Puck’s hand closes around his cock. “Ohh. Oh, good.”

“Better now, blue eyes?” Puck asks, amusement in his voice.

“Yes.” Kurt’s hand snakes into Puck’s sweatpants, mirroring Puck’s earlier actions, and Kurt grins. “Better for you?”

“Absolutely.”

They set a slow, steady rhythm, necessary given their still–present physical limitations, hands tugging and pumping slowly while their mouths fuse together, tongues wrapping around each other. It’s not like they can get each other sick, Puck reasons, since clearly that ship sailed days before. He figures probably Finn got exposed first, and gave it to both of them, or maybe all three of them got it at the same time. Either way, kissing Kurt now isn’t going to make him _more_ sick, and he presses closer, hand tightening on Kurt’s erection. Kurt’s body is coiled tight against him, and Puck increases the speed of his hand, pulling back to nip lightly at Kurt’s lower lip. Kurt thrusts into him and comes, whimpering, and his own hand clenches around Puck, moving faster and faster until Puck comes, too, his own cry still weak.

“Needed that,” Kurt admits a moment later, and Puck nods, kissing the side of Kurt’s neck.

“Yeah we did.” He takes a deep, content breath, then rolls to the side to pick up the box of tissues that Carole left there days ago. “Convenient.”

Kurt giggles, and it’s a good sound to hear again. “Exactly.”

They’re almost dozing after that when the garage door opens again, and Puck can hear Carole and Finn returning. Finn doesn’t stop at his own bedroom but continues, appearing in Kurt’s doorway and leaning heavily on it.

“Did you see Dr. Hughes again?” Kurt asks.

Finn nods. “I’m sick, two point oh.” He holds up a prescription bag. “Antibiotics and an asthma thingy. I don’t have asthma but I have, like, patches of something on one of my lungs. Like pneumonia, but not all the way.”

Kurt makes a face. “That doesn’t sound good, dude,” Puck shakes his head. “No school for you tomorrow?”

“She said two or three more days of rest. I _told_ her I did everything my mom told me to do, but she said sometimes shit happens,” Finn laments.

“Sucks.”

“Did the doctor really say ‘shit’?” Kurt asks, clearly curious.

“I think she said something like how some people are more susceptible to secondary whatever, but it sounded like shit happens.”

“Ah.” Kurt sounds vaguely disappointed. “Back to bed? We were going to nap before lunch.”

“Yeah, mom says she left food in the fridge and there’s a note in there with instructions about everybody’s meds,” Finn says. “Oh, and look!” He pulls out a bottle of cough syrup from his prescription bag. “It has codeine!”

“Great?” Puck offers. “Don’t get too stoned?”

Kurt and Puck fall asleep without the help of codeine, and then the three of them eat sandwiches and take medicine before shuffling back upstairs to try to take another nap. Puck and Kurt aren’t doing a very good job of it, talking quietly, when Kurt’s phone rings.

It’s not any of his special ringtones, just his generic ‘Born This Way,’ and when he picks up the phone, Kurt frowns. “It’s David.”

“Karofsky?”

Kurt nods and answers the call. “Hello?” He frowns. “David? David, I can’t— I can’t tell what you’re saying.” He looks up at Puck and shrugs, bewildered. “You’re— what? David.” There’s a long pause and Puck watches the blood drain from Kurt’s face. “Where are you now? Puck, go get Finn, we have to go— St. Rita’s, okay, we’re, hang on, okay, David? Just— we’re on our way.”

Puck’s scrambling out of bed, pulling on a sweatshirt and about to head down the hall. “What’s going on?”

“Casey.”

Puck can feel his stomach plummet. “His dad?”

Kurt pauses in pulling on a sweater and shakes his head. “No. Worst case scenario.”


End file.
